AM    R  CAN 


r^j  B  CLARKE  CQ^ 

BOOK?ELLERS&STATIONERS 

26  &  ?!8TREMONTST.8, 
30  COURT  SQ..BOSTON. 


HIGHWAYS  AND   BYWAYS  OF 
THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAINS 

INCLUDING 

NORTH  DAKOTA 

SOUTH  DAKOTA 

NEW  MEXICO 

OKLAHOMA 

COLORADO 

NEBRASKA 

MONTANA 

WYOMING 

KANSAS 

TEXAS 

UTAH 

AND  THE 

YELLOWSTONE  NATIONAL  PARK 


Pike's  Peak  from  the  Garden  of  the  Gods 


HIGHWAYS    AND     BYWAYS 

OF  THE 

ROCKY    MOUNTAINS 


WRITTEN     AND 
ILLUSTRATED    BY 

CLIFTON    JOHNSON 


Published  by   THE     MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

New  York  McMX 

LONDON:    MACMILLAN  AND  co.,  LIMITED 


Copyright,  IQIO, 

by  the  Macmillan  Company. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped. 
Published  October,  1910. 


AMERICAN 
HIGHWAYS      AND      BYWAYS 


THE      ROCKY      MOUNTAINS 


Electrotyped 

and 

Printed 

by  the 

F.  A.  Bassette  Company 

Springfield,  Mass. 


Contents 

Page 

I.  When  the  Fields  Turn  Green  in  Nebraska       .  I 

II.  Historic  Kansas     . 

III.  In  Oklahoma         .  •  4* 

IV.  A  Texas  Bubble    .  •  62 
V.  On  the  Banks  of  the  Rio  Grande    .  .  83 

VI.  Pueblo  Life  in  New  Mexico    .  •  IO° 

VII.  Around  Pike's  Peak       .  •  I2° 

VIII.  In  the  Heart  of  the  Rockies   .  -  14° 

IX.  Life  in  a  Mormon  Village       .  •  15* 

X.  Wyoming  Days      .  •  J77 

XI.  Mountain  and  Valley  in  Montana  .  -  194 

XII.  May  in  the  Yellowstone  •  215 

XIII.  Custer's  Last  Battlefield  •  233 

XIV.  Among  the  Black  Hills  .  •  25° 
XV.  A  Dakota  Paradise         .         .         .  •          .264 


Illustrations 

Pike's  Peak  viewed  from  the  Garden  of  the  Gods  Frontispiece 

FACING  PAG* 

Spring  in  a  Home  Field        .....         ^         •  4 

In  the  Pigpen 9 

A  Cyclone  Cellar 16 

Looking  for  Gophers ,         .  21 

The  First  Cultivating            .......  26 

A  Pause  in  the  Day's  Work          ...                   •          •  31 

Starting  His  Garden    ........  34 

A  Dooryard  Well 39 

Talking  Business         ......••  42 

An  Indian  House  and  the  Tepee  in  the  Yard         .                  .  47 

Evening  by  the  Creekside    .......  5° 

On  the  Way  to  Town  .         .         .         .         .         .         -57 

Some  of  the  Tanks  among  the  Derricks         ....  64 

Neighbor  meets  Neighbor '69 

A  Hog  Family    .......  74 

On  the  Hotel  Piazza   . 79 

Filling  a  Cask     .........  84 

An  Old  Street     .         . 87 

Housewives  at  their  Washing        ......  92 

In  a  Country  Village             .                   98 

The  Enchanted  Mesa 103 

The  Ladders  that  Give  Access  to  the  Upper  Stories        .         .  106 
The  Governor  of  the  Village         .         .         .         .         .         .ill 

ix 


x  Illustrations 

An  Oven    .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .114 

The  Old  Church  at  Santa  Fe  .         .         .         .         .119 

A  Balanced  Rock  in  the  Garden  of  the  Gods          .          .          .122 
Working  on  the  Road  .          .          .          .          .          .          .127 

Cattle  on  a  Cripple  Creek  Hilltop 130 

Sorting  over  the  Old  Mine  Dumps        .....     137 

The  Farmer  and  His  Helpmate    ......     144 

Game  in  Sight    .....         7         ...     149 

A  Placer  Miner  in  a  Leadville  Gulch 152 

A  Chat  on  the  Highway       .          .          .          .          .          .  155 

At  the  Backdoor  of  an  Adobe  House     .          .          .          .          .158 

On  the  Shore  of  the  Great  Salt  Lake 161 

Mormon  Maidens 164 

The  Old  Settler 171 

Dove  Cotes         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .178 

A  Tent  Dweller 183 

One  of  the  Buttes  Beside  Green  River  .         .         .         .186 

The  Fisherman  .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .191 

In  the  Mining  District  of  Butte    .         .         .         .         .         .194 

A  Pioneer  Cabin          ........     201 

A  Problem 208 

A  Rural  Mail  Delivery         .         .         .         .         .         .         .213 

A  Terrace  of  Hot  Springs    .......     216 

An  Upland  Brook        ........     220 

A  Geyser  Basin  ........     225 

The  Falls  in  the  Canyon      .......     228 

Cavalry  Maneuvers     ........     230 

The  Spot  where  Custer  Fell          ......     235 

An  Indian  Home  on  the  Banks  of  the  Little  Bighorn      .          .     238 
A  Waterside  Footpath          .......     243 

A  Dancer  and  a  Youthful  Admirer        .....     246 

Panning  for  Gold  .  ....     251 


Illustrations  xi 

Begging  to  go  Fishing           .......  254 

On  a  Black  Hills  Roadway 259 

A  Walk  with  Grandmother           ......  262 

Beside  the  Stream        ........  267 

The  Village  Cows  Starting  for  Pasture           ....  270 

Advising  the  Boys        ........  275 

Dandelions          .........  278 


Introductory  Note 

One  of  the  preceding  volumes  in  this  series  dealt 
with  the  Mississippi  Valley  and  another  with  the  Pacific 
Coast.  The  present  book  covers  the  region  lying  be- 
tween and  takes  its  name  from  the  most  dominant 
physical  feature  of  that  area.  Of  necessity  its  text 
deals  both  with  the  mountains  and  with  the  great  agri- 
cultural states  that  lie  to  the  eastward,  but  perhaps 
it  is  not  any  the  less  interesting  because  of  the  contrasts 
thus  afforded.  I  have  tried  to  give  a  fair  idea  of  the 
varied  characteristics  and  attractions  of  this  vast 
territory  from  Mexico  to  Canada. 

The  several  volumes  in  this  series  have  as  a  rule 
very  little  to  say  of  the  large  towns.  Country  life  is 
their  chief  topic,  especially  the  typical  and  the  pictur- 
esque. To  the  traveller,  no  life  is  more  interesting,  and 
yet  there  is  none  with  which  it  is  so  difficult  to  get  into 
close  and  unconventional  contact.  Ordinarily,  we 
catch  only  casual  glimpses.  For  this  reason  I  have 
wandered  much  on  rural  byways  and  lodged  most  of 
the  time  at  village  hotels  or  in  rustic  homes.  My  trips 


have  taken  me  to  many  characteristic  and  famous 
regions;  but  always  in  both  text  and  pictures  I  have 
tried  to  show  actual  life  and  nature  and  to  convey  some 
of  the  pleasure  I  experienced  in  my  intimate  acquaint- 
ance with  the  people. 

These  "Highways  and  Byways"  volumes  are  often 
consulted  by  persons  who  are  planning  pleasure  tours. 
To  make  the  books  more  helpful  for  this  purpose  each 
chapter  has  a  note  appended  containing  suggestions 
for  intending  travellers.  With  the  aid  of  these  notes, 
I  think  the  reader  can  readily  decide  what  regions  are 
likely  to  prove  particularly  worth  visiting,  and  will 
know  how  to  see  such  regions  with  the  most  comfort 
and  facility. 

CLIFTON  JOHNSON. 
HADLEY,  MASS. 


Highways    and    Byways   of   the 

Rocky    Mountains 

i 

WHEN  THE  FIELDS  TURN  GREEN  IN  NEBRASKA 

THE  winter  was  past,  and  the  uncertain  days 
of  early  spring  had  afforded  enough  encour- 
agement to  make  the  buds  throw  off  their  armor 
of  protecting  scales  and  deck  the  boughs  with  tender 
new  leafage;  and  the  sun  in  its  northward  journey 
had  coaxed  the  grass  to  thrust  up  many  a  valiant  spear 
through  the  last  year's  brown  stubble.  In  the  fields 
the  farmers  were  busy  ploughing,  or  were  making 
preliminary  preparations  for  it  by  getting  rid  of  the 
straw  stacks,  and  the  cornstalks,  which  were  still  stand- 
ing, ragged  and  withered  where  they  grew.  The  stalks 
are  cut  with  mowing-machines,  gathered  into  wind- 
rows with  a  horserake,  and  burned.  The  straw  stacks 
are  burned  also,  and  as  you  look  out  from  the  train 
window  at  this  season  in  the  corn  and  wheat  country 
you  see  on  every  hand  these  little  field  fires  with  their 
long  trailings  of  smoke.  When  evening  comes,  the  fires 


2     Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

are  still  burning,  and  the  red  flames  impart  an  eerie 
aspect  to  the  dusky  landscape. 

I  stopped  at  Grand  Island  in  the  Platte  Valley,  a 
town  that  had  recently  celebrated  its  fiftieth  birthday. 
The  region  around  is  typical  of  the  older  Nebraska 
farming  country.  ^  One  hundred  and  sixty  acres  is  the 
size  of  the  usual  farm,  and  the  home  buildings  are 
almost  certain  to  be  in  a  grove  of  protecting  cotton- 
woods  that  shut  off  the  violence  of  the  winds  and  are  a 
defence  against  the  drifting  snows. 

There  was  something  quite  charming  about  the 
grove  environment  of  the  homes.  Through  the  trees 
I  could  glimpse  the  snug  little  dwelling,  the  red  barn, 
the  windmill,  the  numerous  sheds  and  corn  cribs,  and 
a  medley  of  wagons  and  machines.  I  heard  the  domes- 
tic cackle  of  hens,  the  crowing  of  roosters,  the  cooing 
of  doves,  and  there  was  perhaps  a  farmyard  pool  where 
a  bevy  of  ducks  and  geese  were  paddling.  Then,  too, 
the  groves  are  beloved  by  the  birds.  Those  little  busy- 
bodies,  the  sparrows,  are  chirping  about  the  premises 
all  the  year  through;  and  the  robins,  larks,  yellow- 
hammers  and  others  arrive  with  the  first  mild  days  of 
spring,  so  that  I  found  the  groves  delightfully  musical. 

At  one  of  the  wayside  homes  where  I  stopped,  the 
woman  of  the  house  and  several  children  were  raking 
up  the  cobs  that  strewed  the  hard-trodden  farmyard, 
and  making  bonfires  of  them.  The  cobs  would  have 


When  the  Fields  Turn  Green  in  Nebraska         3 

been  good  to  burn  in  the  stove,  but  they  were  broken, 
and  it  was  too  much  trouble  to  pick  them  up.  They 
are  a  standard  fuel  in  the  region,  and  are  especially 
esteemed  for  making  a  hot,  quick  fire  in  summer. 
The  family  had  a  great  bin-full  stored  for  this  purpose, 
and  they  had  sold  many  hundreds  of  bushels  in  the 
town  at  two  cents  a  bushel.  In  some  homes  cobs  are 
the  only  fuel,  except  that  in  winter  a  little  green  wood 
is  used  with  them  to  make  the  fire  burn  more  steadily. 

I  stayed  to  dinner  with  my  farmyard  acquaintances. 
They  were  prosperous  and  lived  well,  though  more 
heartily  than  delicately.  We  dined  in  two  detach- 
ments, the  men  and  boys  first,  and  then  the  feminine 
portion  of  the  household.  This  was  a  rather  necessary 
arrangement,  for  the  rooms  were  small  and  there  were 
thirteen  children,  all  of  them  at  home.  Excepting  the 
very  youngest,  every  member  of  the  family  was  a  worker, 
and  the  stooping  shoulders  of  some  of  the  lads  seemed 
to  indicate  that  they  had  done  too  heavy  tasks  for  their 
age  in  years  past.  This  is  a  not  uncommon  phase  of 
Western  farm  life.  The  children  are  sacrificed  to  the 
crops. 

On  the  sunny  side  of  the  house  I  counted  eight  cats 
dozing  in  lazy  comfort.  They  were,  however,  useful 
members  of  the  household;  for  without  them  the  rats 
and  mice  would  raise  havoc  in  the  stores  of  grain. 
The  boys  kept  two  or  three  dogs,  partly  for  compan- 


4    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

ionship,  and  partly  to  wage  war  on  the  gophers  and 
rabbits.  "Those  gophers  are  a  mean  animal  around 
this  country,"  said  one  of  the  youths — "that's  what 
they  are.  They  scratch  after  the  corn  just  when  it 
begins  to  come  up,  and  eat  it.  Sometimes  we  kill  'em 
by  drowning  'em  out.  We  drowned  out  one  last  Sun- 
day. The  way  we  do  it  is  to  take  a  dog  along,  and  he 
smells  around  and  digs,  and  then  you  know  a  gopher 
is  in  that  hole,  sure  thing.  The  dog  won't  get  excited 
on  any  old  scent.  We  pour  in  water — perhaps  two  or 
three  buckets  full — and  pretty  soon  the  gopher  pokes 
his  nose  out  and  starts  off.  But  he's  all  wet  and  can't 
run  very  fast,  and  we  either  kill  him  with  a  stick,  or 
the  dog  catches  him.  Sometimes  the  dogs  go  hunting  a 
gopher  alone,  and  they'll  get  him,  too — you  bet  they 
will,  even  if  they  have  to  dig  a  hole  three  or  four  feet 
deep. 

"The  rabbits  ain't  so  bad  as  the  gophers  though  they 
do  considerable  damage  gnawing  the  bark  of  young 
fruit  trees.  We  kill  'em  as  much  as  we  can.  But  they 
raise  about  three  bunches  of  little  ones  in  a  season, 
nine  to  a  bunch,  and  we  can't  get  'em  all." 

The  boy's  father  had  taken  up  the  land  on  which 
he  lived  thirty-seven  years  ago.  The  second  year  after 
he  came,  in  the  middle  of  April,  occurred  the  worst 
storm  in  the  history  of  the  state.  "It  caught  us  un- 
prepared," he  said;  "for  spring  had  come  and  we'd 


When  the  Fields  Turn  Green  in  Nebraska         5 

been  having  nice  warm  weather.  I  was  at  a  neighbor's 
when  it  started,  and  the  first  I  knew  there  come  a  wind 
that  blew  my  hat  off.  Then  I  hurried  home  and  got 
the  cattle  to  the  sheds.  But  lots  of  people  left  'em  on 
the  prairie  thinkin'  the  storm  would  soon  be  over. 
The  northwest  wind  was  awful,  and  the  cattle  drifted 
along  before  it.  There  was  no  fences  then  to  stop  'em, 
and  they  went  into  the  Platte  River  and  was  drowned. 

"The  storm  lasted  three  days.  It  was  snow  and  rain 
and  everything  mixed  together  so  thick  you  couldn't 
see.  Some  of  the  drifts  were  six  or  seven  feet  deep, 
and  our  sheds  were  just  blown  full,  but  I  made  out  to 
get  to  the  yard  where  the  cattle  were  and  fed  'em  a 
little  corn.  When  the  storm  was  over,  most  of  'em  was 
buried  out  of  sight,  except  they'd  kept  their  heads 
moving  so  there  was  a  little  place  where  they  could 
breathe.  Nearly  all  of  'em  was  lyin'  down,  and  we 
had  to  go  to  work  and  dig  'em  out.  A  great  many 
birds  were  killed,  and  we  found  several  wild  ducks  and 
a  deer  dead.  The  drifts  didn't  all  melt  until  June. 

"Another  bad  storm  was  in  January,  1888.  We'd 
been  shelling  corn  that  morning  with  the  horsepower 
in  the  yard,  and  while  we  was  at  dinner  a  big  wind 
began  to  blow  and  everything  got  dark.  We  had  to 
light  the  lamps.  I  could  hardly  stand  against  the 
gale  to  get  to  the  barn  to  see  to  the  stock.  A  good 
many  roofs  of  cow  sheds  and  outbuildings  were  just 


6     Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

straw  or  hay  thrown  on,  and  the  wind  blew  that  right 
off. 

"At  our  schoolhouse  the  teacher  and  the  twenty  or 
more  children  stayed  all  night.  They  had  a  fire  and 
there  was  lamps  that  they  lit,  but  they  got  pretty  hun- 
gry before  the  next  day.  Some  teachers  didn't  have 
the  sense  to  keep  the  children,  and  quite  a  number  of 
little  boys  and  girls  was  frozen  to  death  trying  to  get 
home." 

When  I  left  the  farmhouse  I  continued  my  rambling 
across  the  low  levels  until  I  came  to  the  Platte,  a  wide 
and  rather  uncanny  looking  stream,  the  bed  of  which 
showed  decidedly  more  sandbars  than  water.  Indeed, 
it  is  sometimes  spoken  of  as  a  mile  wide  and  an  inch 
deep.  But  in  June  when  it  is  swollen  by  melting  snows 
from  the  distant  mountains  it  is  a  wild  and  swift, 
though  still  shallow  torrent.  Gradually  the  waters 
recede  until  September,  when  the  flow  entirely  ceases 
and  there  is  nothing  left  but  sand  and  stagnant  pools. 
It  is  a  treacherous  stream  to  ford,  even  when  the  water 
is  nearly  at  its  lowest,  and  a  local  farmer  related 
how  he  was  once  crossing  on  foot  and  came  to  a  place 
only  ankle  deep,  yet  he  sank  in  quicksand  above  his 
knees  and  had  a  hard  struggle  to  get  out. 

I  did  not  care  to  linger  long  on  the  river  bank,  for 
a  rude  and  chilling  wind  blew  that  was  quite  uncom- 
fortable. I  wondered  that  the  birds  could  sing  so 


When  the  Fields  Turn  Green  in  Nebraska         7 

blithely,  and  was  in  doubt  whether  it  was  from  enjoy- 
ment or  to  keep  up  their  courage  in  the  boisterous 
weather. 

The  pioneer  who  led  the  first  band  of  settlers  to  the 
region  was  still  living  in  the  vicinity,  and  one  evening 
I  called  on  him.  His  house  was  on  the  far  side  of  a 
thirty-five  acre  grove,  and  the  approach  to  it  was  by  a 
winding  road  through  the  great  trees.  The  dusk  was 
deepening,  and  the  lamp  was  lighted  in  the  kitchen  where 
the  family  was  just  finishing  supper  when  I  rapped. 
The  old  settler  himself  came  to  the  door.  "Why 
don't  you  come  in  ?"  he  said,  as  if  rapping  was  a  needless 
ceremony. 

He  was  a  vigorous,  elderly  German,  whose  kindly 
hospitality  at  once  put  me  at  my  ease  and  we  were  soon 
chatting  about  his  early  experiences. 

"  It  looks  like  a  crazy  piece  of  work,  my  coming  here 
to  live,"  said  he.  "In  my  boyhood  there  was  nothing 
to  indicate  that  I  was  cut  out  for  a  frontiersman;  but 
some  inward  power  causes  young  people  to  go,  go,  go. 
At  first,  when  I  came  to  America,  I  settled  in  Iowa, 
and  at  the  time  of  the  financial  panic  in  1857  my  brother- 
in-law  and  I  were  in  the  mercantile  business  there  and 
failed.  We  were  ten  thousand  dollars  in  debt,  and  it 
was  '  Root  hog,  or  die.'  But  look  at  this,"  and  he  took 
a  tiny  green  bottle  from  a  drawer.  "There  is  the  proud- 
est piece  of  property  I've  got.  In  that  bottle  are  the 


8     Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

ashes  of  the  notes  I  gave  for  my  debts;  and  I  made 
all  the  money  to  pay  those  notes  right  here  in  this 
wilderness. 

"Some  men  around  where  I  lived  in  Iowa  were 
interested  in  starting  a  town  just  half  way  between 
the  east  and  west  coasts.  They  thought  that  would  be 
the  place  for  the  national  capital.  A  number  of  con- 
gressmen were  interested,  too,  and  they  were  far- 
sighted  enough  to  see  that  a  railroad  was  bound  to  go 
up  the  Platte  Valley,  because  that  furnished  the  best 
natural  grade  for  a  route  across  the  continent.  They 
wanted  their  town  in  this  valley,  and  they  asked  me 
to  organize  a  colony.  They  were  to  furnish  a  surveying 
party  and  all  the  grub  and  arms  and  ammunition,  and 
were  to  have  half  the  land  we  took  up.  Our  party 
started  in  June,  1858.  There  were  thirty-seven  of  us 
including  several  women  and  children.  The  only 
settlement  this  side  of  Omaha  was  sixty  miles  east  of 
here.  To  the  west  was  nothing  but  a  few  forts. 

"The  exact  central  spot  is  twelve  miles  farther  up 
the  river,  but  it  was  a  dry  year  and  the  land  there  was 
rather  high  and  had  become  so  parched  it  didn't  look 
as  if  it  was  good  for  anything.  In  fact,  the  country 
everywhere,  except  along  the  streams,  was  apparently 
a  sort  of  desert  where  it  seemed  as  if  no  one  would 
ever  be  fool  enough  to  settle.  Besides,  even  if  the  land 
had  been  all  right,  a  person  couldn't  in  those  days 


In  the  pigpen 


When  the  Fields  Turn  Green  in  Nebraska         9 

have  a  home  far  from  the  streams,  because  on  the  open 
prairies  there  was  no  wood  to  burn  or  to  build  with; 
and  no  water  unless  deep  wells  were  bored,  and  we 
had  no  machinery  for  doing  that.  But  here  it  was  all 
green  and  nice  with  quite  a  little  timber  along  the  river, 
and  we  decided  on  this  for  our  location. 

"The  first  thing  we  did  was  to  cut  cottonwoods  and 
build  four  log  cabins.  They  each  had  two  rooms  with 
a  roofed  passage  between  and  were  in  a  group  close 
together.  We  had  no  boards,  and  our  early  roofs  were 
either  of  sods  or  of  slue  grass.  This  slue  grass  grew 
as  tall  as  a  man,  and  when  cut  early  enough  it  made 
good  fodder— fine!  It  made  excellent  roofs,  too. 
We'd  bind  it  on  with  willow  withes,  and,  if  well  made, 
such  a  roof  would  last  a  lifetime.  As  soon  as  the  houses 
were  done  we  began  to  break  up  the  prairie,  and  some 
sowed  buckwheat  and  got  a  crop  that  season.  Plenty 
of  prairie  grass  grew  in  the  vicinity,  and  it  was  knee- 
high  and  as  thick  as  could  be.  With  our  scythes  we 
mowed  enough  to  feed  our  animals  through  the  winter. 
The  next  spring  I  built  a  log  house  specially  for  myself, 
and  it  is  the  ell  of  my  present  house.  You  are  in  one  of 
its  rooms  now.  For  a  while  this  was  rather  a  lonesome 
country,  but  in  1859  Pike's  Peak  was  discovered — 
that  is,  gold  was  found  in  the  Rocky  Mountains. 
People  got  wild,  and  train  after  train  of  fortune  seekers 
passed  up  the  trail,  often  fifty  wagons  in  a  train,  and 
they  kept  going  till  the  railroad  was  built  in  1866. 


io   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

"The  second  year  after  I  came  I  wrote  to  my  credit- 
ors, 'If  you  expect  me  to  settle  my  debts  you  must  send 
me  a  mowing-machine,  and  you  must  pay  the  freight 
to  Omaha/ 

"They  sent  it,  and  I  made  eight  hundred  and  twelve 
dollars  with  it  the  same  season.  Twelve  dollars  I  kept 
to  buy  things  that  were  needed  at  home,  and  the  rest 
I  sent  to  my  creditors.  The  country  was  getting  more 
people  in  it  all  the  time,  and  by  and  by  I  wrote  to  my 
creditors,  '  If  you  expect  me  to  settle  my  debts  you  must 
send  me  a  threshing-machine,  and  pay  the  freight  to 
Omaha/ 

"  You  see  I  forwarded  to  them  all  the  money  I  made, 
and  so  I  couldn't  pay  for  the  machine  or  the  freight 
either.  It  cost  nearly  seven  hundred  dollars,  but  they 
sent  it,  and  I  made  two  thousand  dollars  with  it  that 
year  to  lessen  my  debt. 

"In  the  winters  I  trapped  beaver,  otter  and  mink, 
and  poisoned  wolves.  Beaver  were  plenty  then,  and 
so  were  the  other  creatures.  I've  killed  seventy-five 
wolves  in  a  single  season.  Most  of  'em  I  got  right 
around  my  house  with  poison.  I  stumbled  onto  a  very 
good  way  to  make  sure  of  'em.  I'd  prepare  a  number 
of  sticks  about  fifteen  inches  long,  pointed  at  both  ends, 
and  I'd  cut  some  meat  into  inch  cubics,  one  for  the  tip 
of  each  stick,  and  right  where  the  point  of  the  stick 
come  through  the  meat  I  put  some  strychnine  in  a  pellet 


When  the  Fields  Turn  Green  in  Nebraska        n 

of  lard.  Next  I'd  drag  a  big  chunk  of  buffalo  meat 
along  the  ground  to  make  a  trail  for  the  wolves  to  scent, 
and  at  intervals  on  the  trail  I'd  set  up  my  sticks.  So 
now  I  was  ready  for  business.  In  the  night  the  wolves 
would  come  and  dash  along  taking  the  pieces  of  meat, 
one  after  another.  The  lard  would  melt  right  away  so 
the  strychnine  would  take  immediate  effect  and  they 
wouldn't  go  far.  Often  I'd  find  'em  within  fifty  steps. 
Most  settlers  would  put  the  poison  into  the  meat  and 
leave  the  meat  on  the  ground.  It  would  kill  the  wolves, 
but  not  quickly,  and  they'd  die  too  far  away  to  be  found. 
Then  there  was  no  chance  to  get  the  hides.  I  sold  the 
coyote  skins  for  about  a  dollar,  but  the  big  gray  timber 
wolves  brought  twice  or  three  times  as  much.  This 
little  house  has  been  nailed  all  over  outside  with  wolf, 
beaver  and  other  skins,  and  the  walls  inside  hung  full 
of  the  cured  hides. 

"My  clothing  was  of  buckskin,  Indian-tanned,  and 
it  was  warm  in  winter  and  cool  in  summer.  Buffalo 
robes  were  our  bedding  for  many  years.  The  Indians 
would  sell  us  the  best  of  buffalo  skins  for  two  or  three 
dollars  apiece.  I  have  seen  thousands  and  thousands  of 
buffalo  at  one  time.  You  could  look  around  and 
there'd  be  large  herds  on  every  side.  The  prairie  was 
black  with  'em.  I  thought  we'd  have  the  finest  hunting 
as  long  as  I  lived,  and  my  children  after  me.  But  pretty 
soon  men  began  to  butcher  the  buffaloes  for  their  hides, 


12    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

and  lots  of  'em  were  killed  by  the  emigrants  who'd 
shoot  'em  with  their  good-for-nothing  rifles,  and  often 
only  cripple  'em.  Sometimes  the  wounded  buffalo 
would  drag  itself  away  twenty  miles  before  it  died. 
So  in  ten  or  twelve  years  all  of  'em  were  gone,  and  most 
of  the  other  game  as  well. 

"October  was  our  hunting  time.  We'd  fix  up  a 
couple  of  wagons,  and  I'd  drive  with  one  companion  to 
the  Loop  River  to  stay  a  month  or  so.  We  didn't  know 
whether  buffalo  would  be  plenty  or  not,  and  as  soon  as 
we  had  a  chance  we'd  kill  any  that  we  could,  even  if 
they  were  old  fellows.  The  meat  might  be  tough,  but 
it  was  all  good.  Later,  if  we  could  get  younger  animals 
we'd  throw  the  tough  meat  away.  We  didn't  save  the 
hides.  They  were  too  heavy  to  carry.  The  scent  of  the 
buffaloes  we  killed  would  be  carried  a  long  distance, 
and  it  attracted  the  wolves.  At  night  we'd  have  to  chain 
our  horses  well  to  the  wagons  or  they'd  break  away. 
Hundreds  of  wolves  would  gather  around,  and  I  tell 
you  their  howling  was  a  peculiar  music.  It  was  enough 
to  make  a  greeny's  hair  stand  on  end.  First  one  would 
howl  and  then  the  whole  lot  on  all  sides. 

"Every  winter  the  Pawnees  camped  down  here  on 
the  river,  and  this  house  has  been  full  of  Indians  many 
a  time.  In  stormy  weather  they'd  come  in  here  and 
stay  all  day  and  tell  me  everything  they  knew.  Occa- 
sionally two  or  three  would  stop  over  night.  My  wife 


When  the  Fields  Turn  Green  in  Nebraska        13 

and  I  would  be  in  our  bed  at  the  other  side  of  the  room, 
and  they'd  lie  around  the  stove  in  the  corner. 

"When  we  came  here  we  were  at  peace  with  all  the 
Indians  around;  but  I  got  the  company  together  one 
time  and  said:  'Now,  boys,  these  wild  neighbors  of  ours 
are  certain  to  give  us  trouble  sooner  or  later,  and  I 
would  advise  that  we  build  a  strong  fortification  to  pro- 
tect our  families/ 

"Then  one  of  the  fellows  says:  'He  wants  us  to 
furnish  him  with  a  cow  stable.' 

"'That's  enough,'  I  said;  Til  build  the  fortification 
myself.' 

"  So  I  went  to  work  and  made  a  stout  log  cabin  with 
twenty-five  portholes  in  it  and  a  heavy  four-inch  door. 
Well,  late  in  the  summer  of  1864  there  was  an  Indian 
uprising.  Everybody  was  frightened  and  for  twenty 
miles  around  you  could  see  the  dust  rising,  stirred  up  by 
the  fleeing  people  with  their  teams  and  cattle  and  dogs 
and  cats  and  all  they  had.  That  fellow  who'd  accused 
me  of  wanting  my  neighbors  to  put  up  a  building  that 
would  serve  me  for  a  cow  stable  came  to  me  and  said : 
'What  are  you  going  to  do  ?' 

'"I'm  too  big  a  coward  to  run,'  I  says.  'So  I'mgoin' 
to  stay  right  here.' 

"Then  he  wanted  to  take  advantage  of  my  block- 
house, but  I  said:  'You're  the  last  man  I  want  in  that 
fort.  It's  too  good  for  you,  and  you  can't  stay.' 


14  Highways  and^Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

"The  other  people  who  lived  near  helped  pile  sods 
outside  around  the  base,  and  we  had  a  well  in  a  corner, 
and  an  underground  annex  where  we  kept  our  horses. 
Thirty-five  persons  stayed  in  the  fort  for  three  weeks. 
A  good  many  scattered  settlers  were  killed,  but  the  In- 
dians didn't  attack  us." 

My  companion  paused  meditatively  a  few  moments 
and  then  said:  "If  it  was  daytime  I'd  like  to  show  you 
my  apiary.  I  got  my  first  bees  twenty-seven  years  ago, 
and  I  spent  a  good  deal  of  time  and  money  to  make  good 
quarters  for  them.  My  wife  did  not  like  what  I  was  doing 
and  she  got  mad.  'This  is  not  a  country  of  flowers,'  she 
said,  'and  we  shall  never  have  a  bit  of  honey  on  the  table.' 

"She  kept  talking  and  talking,  and  at  last  I  says: 
'Mama,  you  keep  to  your  business  in  the  kitchen,  and 
I'll  take  care  of  things  outdoors.' 

"Night  and  day  I  studied  about  bees  till  I  learned  to 
take  scientific  care  of  them.  By  and  by  I  had  honey  to 
sell,  and  I  increased  the  number  of  hives  to  about  forty. 
Those  bees  have  made  for  me  eight  thousand  dollars, 
and  so  now  my  wife  likes  the  bees,  too.  She  is  some- 
times a  little  bit  after  the  dollar  herself. 

"The  apiary  is  in  a  little  open  space  at  the  edge  of  my 
grove  and  near  by  I  have  an  ornamental  garden  with 
flowers  and  vines  and  arbors.  The  grove  is  open  to  the 
public,  and  people  come  to  it  much  to  drive  or  walk 
through.  Lovers  like  to  ramble  and  loiter  along  its 


When  the  Fields  Turn  Green  in  Nebraska        15 

paths  and  roadways  on  Sunday  afternoons,  and  many  a 
match  has  been  made  there.  I  set  out  the  first  trees 
that  were  ever  set  out  in  this  part  of  the  country.  They 
were  twelve  cottonwoods,  and  I  said:  'There  are  the 
twelve  apostles.  May  they  teach  forestry  in  all  this 
region.' 

"Those  original  trees  are  all  gone  now.  Most  of 
them  died  of  old  age,  but  one  was  destroyed  by  light- 
ning, and  I  called  that  'Judas  Iscariot.' 

"  Many  things  have  changed  since  I  came  here.  Even 
the  air  is  different.  It  used  to  be  purer  and  less  humid, 
and  we'd  often  see  a  mirage.  While  I  was  still  living  in 
Iowa  a  fellow  from  our  town  made  a  journey  to  Cali- 
fornia, and  when  he  came  back  he  of  course  had  a  good 
deal  to  tell.  'It's  hard  to  believe,'  says  he;  'but  I  have 
seen  a  buffalo,  and  when  I  crawled  two  miles  to  get  to 
it,  by  jingo!  it  was  a  crow.' 

"Heavens!  what  a  liar  that  fellow  is!'  I  said  to  my- 
self. 'He's  been  to  a  bad  school  in  California.'  But 
when  I  came  here  the  air  played  the  same  tricks  on  me. 

'The  worst  setback  this  state  ever  had  was  the  grass- 
hopper plague  in  1875.  The  insects  came  in  such  num- 
bers they  hid  the  sun.  I  had  six  acres  of  corn — fine 
corn.  It  was  August  and  the  ears  had  formed,  but  were 
still  soft.  In  half  an  hour  after  the  grasshoppers  ar- 
rived nothing  was  left  except  the  stalks.  A  neighbor 
had  a  nice  field  of  onions.  The  grasshoppers  began  to 


1 6  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

come  about  noon  one  day  and  he  said,  'We'll  all  go  out 
and  save  what  we  can  of  those  onions.' 

"But  his  wife  said:  'The  dumplings  are  hot.  Eat 
dinner  first.' 

"  So  the  family  sat  down  and  ate,  and  when  they  went 
out  to  rescue  the  onions  the  grasshoppers  had  eaten,  too, 
and  there  were  no  onions  to  rescue. 

"The  grasshoppers  were  bad  enough  in  their  way, 
but,  still  more  disturbing  to  my  peace  of  mind  was  a 
neighbor  I  used  to  have.  His  name  was  Hefner,  and  he 
lived  just  across  the  highway  from  my  grove.  No  one 
could  be  more  cussed  and  mean  and  sneaking.  If 
there's  a  hell  that's  where  he  is  now.  My  brother-in-law 
had  some  land  near  Hefner's  place  that  he  was  breaking 
up  one  fall,  and  he  used  to  feed  his  oxen  early  in  the 
morning  so't  they'd  be  ready  to  work  later,  and  then 
he'd  go  back  to  bed.  That  was  his  way  of  doing  things. 
He  was  a  good  man,  but  lazy.  While  he  was  having  his 
nap  Hefner  would  come  out  and  set  his  dog  on  the  oxen, 
and  away  they'd  go  over  the  prairie.  So  when  my 
brother-in-law  got  ready  to  plough  he'd  have  a  long 
walk  to  get  'em.  This  happened  day  after  day  until  he 
had  some  suspicion  of  what  was  going  on,  and  my  wife 
did,  too;  but  they  knew  what  a  firebrand  I  was,  and 
didn't  tell  me.  I  would  have  stopped  it  just  that  quick!" 
and  he  snapped  his  fingers. 

"Finally  my  brother-in-law  lay  in  the  long  grass  and 
saw  Hefner  set  his  dog  on  the  oxen,  and  he  went  to  him 


When  the  Fields  Turn  Green  in  Nebraska        17 

and  told  him  he'd  got  to  quit  that  sort  of  thing.  Well, 
there  were  some  other  differences  between  us  and  Hef- 
ner, and  he  began  circulating  stories  about  us.  One 
Sunday  afternoon  we  were  having  coffee,  German 
fashion,  when  a  team  with  six  men  in  it  drove  up  to  the 
house.  I  went  out  and  invited  'em  in  to  have  coffee 
with  us,  but  they  said  they  just  come  to  speak  to  me  and 
my  brother-in-law.  'We  want  to  tell  you,'  said  they, 
'that  unless  you  two  stop  troubling  Mr.  Hefner  your 
days  are  numbered.' 

'You  rascals,  you  villains!'  I  shouted,  'if  you  will 
wait  one  minute  your  days  are  numbered  now!' 

"I  ran  in  after  my  rifle,  but  when  I  came  out  they 
were  lashing  their  horse  to  get  away.  Even  then  I 
would  have  had  a  shot  at  them,  if  my  people  had  not 
held  my  wrists. 

"I  spoke  about  Hefner's  dog  and  the  oxen.  That 
dog  was  a  constant  nuisance,  and  yet  he  would  have 
been  all  right  if  he  had  had  a  good  master,  but  Hefner 
was  too  stingy  to  feed  him,  and  he  was  savage  and  half 
starved.  One  night  I  heard  a  noise  and  I  went  out  with 
my  gun  to  see  what  was  the  matter.  Hefner's  dog  had 
jumped  up  and  got  a  quarter  of  antelope  I  had  hung  on 
the  side  of  the  house  about  nine  feet  from  the  ground. 
He  was  gnawing  it,  and  when  I  opened  the  door  he 
began  to  drag  the  meat  away.  'Gr-r-r!'  he  said. 

"I  took  aim  with  my  gun — bum!  and  there  he  was. 
Then  I  went  to  bed  and  slept  well,  and  the  next  morning 


1 8  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

early  I  dragged  the  dog  over  to  Hefner's  and  rapped  on 
his  window.  '  Mr.  Hefner,'  I  said,  'here  is  your  dog,  and 
I  give  you  notice  that  any  thief  who  comes  onto  my 
premises,  whether  he  has  two  legs  or  four,  will  meet  the 
same  treatment.' 

"Well,  well,  that's  all  past  now.  How  time  does 
jump  along.  My  youngest  boy  was  telling  me  yesterday 
he  was  forty  years  old,  but  I  don't  believe  it;  and  yet 
he  may  be  right  and  the  years  have  slipped  away  faster 
than  I  could  realize." 

The  old  settler's  sincerity  and  courage,  and  his  bel- 
ligerant  attitude  toward  what  was  mean  and  under- 
handed were  very  attractive,  and  I  enjoyed  him  and  his 
lively  description  of  his  experiences  so  thoroughly  that 
I  stayed  until  late  into  the  night  and  parted  from  him 
with  regret. 

When  I  left  the  Grand  Island  region  I  went  to  the 
southern  borders  of  the  state.  Here  was  the  same  pros- 
perity, but  the  country  was  somewhat  newer  than  that 
along  the  Platte,  and  the  houses  were  not  so  sheltered 
by  trees.  Alfalfa  is  one  of  the  important  crops,  and  as 
the  fields  are  mowed  three  or  four  times,  haying  is  al- 
most continuous  from  early  June  till  the  middle  of  Octo- 
ber. But  the  Nebraska  farmers  do  not  make  as  hard 
work  of  haying  as  the  Eastern  agriculturists  do,  and 
the  task  is  largely  accomplished  with  machinery. 

Wealth  is  the  rule  rather  than  the  exception,  and 
farmers  worth  twenty  thousand  dollars  or  over  are  not 


When  the  Fields  Turn  Green  in  Nebraska        19 

at  all  unusual.  But  evidence  of  this  is  seldom  seen  in 
the  style  in  which  they  live.  You  find  it  instead  in  the 
big  fertile  fields.  The  owners  may  continue  to  inhabit 
a  cramped  and  shabby  dwelling,  wear  work-a-day  gar- 
ments to  town,  and  drive  around  in  a  ramshackle  car- 
riage, or  in  a  lumber  wagon  with  an  extra  spring  seat 
put  in  for  the  wife  or  other  members  of  the  family  to  sit 
on  when  they  go  too.  It  is  not  alone  in  the  country 
that  the  dwellings  are  small,  for  diminutive  houses  are 
surprisingly  plentiful  in  all  the  villages.  These  are, 
however,  a  matter  of  preference.  "  My  house  is  only  a 
one-story  cottage,"  said  a  merchant  with  whom  I  talked 
on  the  subject;  "but  it's  all  my  wife  can  take  care  of. 
There's  a  doctor  lives  next  door  to  me  who  has  such  a 
big  house  that  he  has  to  keep  a  hired  girl;  and  his  wife 
and  that  girl  are  busy  all  the  time.  No  sooner  do  they 
get  the  house  hoed  out  once  than  they  have  to  begin  and 
hoe  it  out  again." 

Not  all  the  farmers  own  the  land  they  till.  Some  are 
"renters."  As  one  such  man  explained  the  situation, 
the  owner  of  his  place  "kept  the  buildings  in  repair,  or 
was  supposed  to,"  and  paid  the  taxes  and  received  for 
rental  a  third  of  the  crop,  delivered  in  market.  If  the 
season  was  favorable  both  parties  did  well,  but  he  told 
of  one  dry  year  when  he  had  fifty-five  acres  of  corn, 
"and  there  wasn't  an  ear  fit  to  feed  the  horses,"  said  he. 
"  I  snapped  off  some  for  the  cows  and  I  saved  the  fodder, 
but  it  was  poor  stuff." 


2O  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

The  man  was  going  to  drive  to  town,  and  I  rode  with 
him.  It  was  Saturday  afternoon,  which  has  a  good  deal 
the  character  of  a  half-holiday  among  the  farm  folk. 
Going  to  town  is  their  chief  recreation,  and  the  place 
was  enlivened  with  many  teams,  and  the  stores  were 
busy  with  people  bargaining  and  buying.  It  is  the 
women  of  the  household  who  do  the  bulk  of  the  trading, 
and  the  man  sits  down  on  a  sidewalk  drygoods  box  and 
waits  for  someone  to  come  along  to  talk  to  him. 

On  this  particular  day  there  was  quite  a  buzz  over  an 
incident  of  the  previous  evening.  It  seemed  that  about 
two  years  previous  a  middle-aged  Missourian  came  to  the 
village,  whose  methods  of  supporting  himself  were  open 
to  question.  He  boarded  at  the  hotel,  and  though  he 
did  an  occasional  honest  day's  work,  it  was  as  a  gambler 
that  he  made  a  living.  Playing  poker  for  money  was 
not  uncommon  among  the  natives,  but  he  was  more 
expert  with  the  cards  than  they  and  was  the  winner  in 
the  games  they  played  with  him  to  a  very  dispropor- 
tionate degree.  Soon  after  his  advent  there  began  to  be 
a  series  of  robberies  from  the  stores.  Suspicion  fell  on 
the  Missourian.  There  was  no  evidence  as  to  who  was 
guilty,  but  the  authorities  felt  they  must  make  an  ex- 
ample of  somebody  and  they  got  him  before  the  court 
for  gambling.  He  was  found  guilty  and  sent  to  jail.  In 
his  testimony,  however,  he  implicated  so  many  of  the 
townspeople  that  when  he  returned  to  his  adopted  vil- 
lage his  welcome  was  far  from  cordial.  He  had  arrived 


Looking  for  gophers 


When  the  Fields  Turn  Green  in  Nebraska       21 

the  day  before,  and  a  crowd  got  together  in  the  evening 
and  told  him  he  must  leave  town  at  once.  He  was  de- 
fiant, but  after  some  squabbling  they  got  him  to  the 
railway  station.  There  he  broke  away  and  ran  across 
the  tracks  up  the  opposite  bank.  The  mob  called  on 
him  to  halt,  and  he  drew  a  revolver  and  faced  them. 
But  though  they  knew  he  was  a  desperado  they  were  too 
angry  and  excited  to  be  stopped  and  promptly  closed  on 
him,  wrested  away  the  revolver,  and  a  little  later  put 
him  on  a  train  that  bore  him  off  in  the  direction  of  his 
native  state. 

Incidents  of  this  sort  were  of  course  exceptional,  and 
life  as  a  whole  in  the  region  was  decidedly  placid.  Oc- 
casionally the  town  would  make  a  grand  effort  and  have 
a  fair.  Street  booths  were  erected  wherein  the  mer- 
chants made  novel  displays  of  their  wares;  acrobats 
were  hired  to  give  performances  free  to  the  public;  and 
there  were  processions  of  decorated  wagons  in  which 
rode  the  pretty  girls  of  the  community,  and  men  in 
fancy  costumes  led  the  horses.  The  young  and  the 
frisky  of  the  crowd  bought  confetti  and  threw  it  at  each 
other,  and  some  of  them  would  go  so  far  as  to  chuck  it 
into  the  faces  of  the  preachers.  These  fairs  were  in- 
tended to  advertise  and  boom  the  town. 

A  celebration  of  a  quieter  sort  was  a  Sunday-school 
picnic  in  a  grove  beside  the  sluggish  creek  that  wandered 
through  the  lowlands.  Then,  too,  there  were  the  church 
sociables  where  cake  and  ice  cream  were  dispensed. 


22  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

The  profits  helped  pay  the  minister,  and  many  people 
would  go  to  the  sociables  who  rarely  attended  church. 

In  the  winter  there  was  sure  to  be  a  variety  of  public 
entertainments  by  both  local  talent  and  travelling  pro- 
fessionals. Once  a  lecture  course  was  attempted,  but 
it  was  not  very  successful.  The  people  preferred  to  be 
amused  rather  than  instructed.  They,  however,  seemed 
to  find  a  peculiar  fascination  in  a  rivival.  Even  if  a 
person  was  not  personally  drawn  into  the  whirlpool  of 
religious  emotion,  the  freakish  displays  of  human  na- 
ture that  developed  were  interesting  to  contemplate. 
One  recent  evangelist  had  inveighed  strenuously  against 
the  use  of  tobacco.  Bill  Tripp,  an  inveterate  back- 
slider, whose  habit  it  was  to  get  converted  in  every  fresh 
revival,  rose  in  the  midst  of  this  exhortation,  went  to  the 
stove,  opened  the  door,  and  threw  in  a  plug  of  the  weed 
that  he  took  from  his  pocket.  Then  he  slammed  the 
stove  door  ostentatiously  and  returned  to  his  seat.  The 
heroism  and  self-sacrifice  of  this  act  were  appreciated, 
and  many  another  fellow  in  the  audience  went  and  did 
likewise.  Their  reformation  rejoiced  the  preacher,  but 
he  did  not  know  that  most  of  them  bought  a  fresh  supply 
of  tobacco  the  next  day.  The  use  of  tobacco  was  gen- 
eral in  the  region,  and  the  boys  began  to  smoke  quite 
young.  Yet  they  did  not  indulge  in  cigarets.  These 
cannot  lawfully  be  sold  in  Nebraska,  and  the  result  is  a 
feeling  that  cigarets  are  rather  disreputable  anyway. 

On  my  final  evening  in  this  vicinity  I  went  for  a  walk 
out  along  the  country  roads  and  saw  the  sun  go  down 


When  the  Fields  Turn  Green  in  Nebraska       23 

beyond  the  edge  of  the  vast  level  sweep  of  the  horizon. 
The  birds  were  singing  their  last  songs,  the  rabbits  were 
nibbling  along  the  roadsides,  the  hens  were  fluttering 
to  roost  in  the  farmyard  trees.  As  I  looked  about  in  the 
cool  damp  of  the  dusk  the  fertile  prosperity  of  the  region 
impressed  me  more  than  ever.  How  beautiful  and  full 
of  promise  it  all  was!  and  what  I  could  see  was  typical 
of  most  of  the  great  state. 

NOTE. — "Wherever  you  can  raise  wheat,  alfalfa,  and  com,  you've 
got  the  world  beat  easy,"  one  Nebraska  man  said  to  me.  That  super- 
lative condition  is  characteristic  of  a  considerable  portion  of  the  state, 
and  the  agricultural  prosperity  of  the  commonwealth  is  a  chief  reason 
for  the  traveller's  making  its  acquaintance.  There  is  perhaps  no  one 
region  that  excels  all  others.  Much  the  same  scenes  and  the  same 
charms  exist  in  many  sections,  and  likewise  in  the  three  neighboring 
states  of  Iowa,  Missouri,  and  Kansas,  which  with  Nebraska  constitute 
"the  big  four"  from  the  farm  point  of  view.  I  chose  to  spend  most  of 
my  Nebraska  days  in  the  vicinity  of  Grand  Island,  attracted  by  the 
unusual  historic  interest  of  the  place.  Other  visitors  would  no  doubt 
find  this  region  as  satisfactory  as  I  did,  but  they  will  hardly  miss  seeing 
some  fine  country  even  if  they  stop  at  random. 


II 

HISTORIC    KANSAS 

IT  was  only  a  little  while  ago  that  we  thought  of 
Kansas  as  a  half-parched  prairie  country  where  the 
promise  of  an  occasional  good  year  lured  the  set- 
tlers to  their  certain  undoing  later,  and  where  mort- 
gages, hopelessly  beyond  the  power  of  the  farmers  to 
pay,  were  well-nigh  universal.  This  opinion,  though 
never  altogether  fair  to  the  state,  was  not  without  con- 
siderable foundation.  But  now  the  aspect  is  decidedly 
different.  Good  season  follows  good  season,  the  mort- 
gages have  melted  away,  and  Kansas  has  become  one  of 
the  wealthiest  and  most  productive  agricultural  states 
in  the  Union. 

The  region  with  which  I  became  best  acquainted  is 
that  about  Lawrence  on  the  Kansas  River.  Lawrence 
attracted  me  because  of  its  New  England  ancestry  and 
its  troubled  history  in  the  anti-slavery  struggle.  The 
town  itself  might  almost  be  a  bit  of  Massachusetts,  for 
Massachusetts  people  have  moulded  it  and  are  still  pre- 
dominant in  its  life;  and  the  tidy  comfort  and  generous 
size  of  the  homes,  the  tree-shadowed  streets  and  trim 
lawns,  and  the  repose  and  air  of  refinement  that  have 
come  with  the  passing  years  are  quite  delightful. 


Historic  Kansas  25 

When  I  wandered  out  into  the  country  I  found  that 
similarly  pleasing,  and  the  homes  were  as  a  rule,  com- 
modious and  shadowed  by  fine  oaks  and  maples.  Re- 
cent timely  rains  had  given  the  soil  a  thorough  soaking, 
the  wheat  and  alfalfa  and  grass  were  all  growing  bravely, 
the  potatoes  were  thrusting  up  into  view,  and  the  gardens 
were  beginning  to  yield  the  earliest  of  their  table 
delicacies. 

Everywhere  I  saw  workers  in  the  fields  toiling  back 
and  forth  with  their  ploughs  and  harrows  and  planting- 
machines.  It  was  a  busy  time,  and  yet  I  always  found 
the  workers  ready  to  stop  and  chat  with  me.  They  were 
vigorous,  capable  fellows  for  the  most  part,  who  were 
satisfied  with  their  condition  and  even  enthusiastic  over 
it;  for  they  were  prospering  and  the  future  looked 
bright  with  promise.  As  one  native  remarked :  "  There's 
money  in  farming  here,  and  good  money,  too.  These 
panics  we  hear  about  don't  worry  us  any.  They  are 
Eastern  affairs  caused  by  the  financial  bullies  of  New 
York.  Prices  have  been  awful  big  for  farm  crops  and 
we're  all  right.  This  ten-acre  potato  field  I'm  at  work 
in  I've  rented  from  a  man  who  lives  in  town,  and  I'll 
tell  you  the  God's  truth — the  first  year  I  raised  potatoes 
on  this  ground  I  made  a  hundred  dollars  an  acre.  But 
the  next  year  potatoes  were  a  drug  on  the  market,  and 
lots  of 'em  never  was  dug.  I  sold  three  hundred  bushels 
at  eight  cents  a  bushel.  I  usually  dig  about  the  middle 
of  June,  and  then  put  the  land  into  rye.  That  grows 


26  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

big  enough  so  I  can  let  the  farm  creatures  run  in  it  all 
winter.  Last  winter  I  turned  into  this  field  fifteen  hogs, 
five  head  of  cattle  and  two  or  three  horses.  It  didn't 
cost  me  hardly  a  dollar  for  any  other  feed,  and  the 
animals  come  through  just  as  fat  as  could  be.  If  I 
didn't  sow  the  land  to  some  crop,  after  the  potatoes  were 
out,  the  crab  grass  would  sprout  up  in  a  few  weeks  as 
thick  as  the  hair  on  a  dog's  back,  and  don't  you  forget  it! 

"  I  used  to  have  a  grocery  in  the  village  near  the  river, 
but  that  flood  in  1903  swept  everything  away  as  clean 
as  a  whistle.  I  never  thought  of  its  coming  up  to  where 
my  store  was,  and  I  didn't  attempt  to  move  out  any 
goods.  Yes,  it  took  the  building  and  left  a  hole  four- 
teen feet  deep.  That  was  fierce.  At  my  house  matters 
wa'n't  much  better.  The  water  was  up  in  the  second 
story,  and  when  it  went  down  the  plastering  come  off 
and  the  furniture  fell  to  pieces.  I'd  bought  a  new  sur- 
rey and  a  single  buggy  a  little  while  before  and  the 
flood  took  those.  Oh,  it  just  naturally  destroyed  all  I 
had.  But  now  I'm  through  with  the  grocery  business, 
and  I  wouldn't  go  back  to  it.  In  a  store  you're  every- 
body's lackey.  This  is  a  much  more  independent  life, 
and  it  pays  better,  too.  Yes,  sir,  farming  is  good  enough 
for  me." 

I  repeated  the  ex-groceryman's  remarks  to  another 
local  farmer.  "I'll  tell  you  right  now,"  said  he,  "that 
you  couldn't  run  fast  enough  to  give  me  the  best  grocery 
store  in  Lawrence.  I  used  to  be  a  bookkeeper  in  a 


Historic  Kansas  27 

railroad  office  and  had  to  leave  because  of  poor  health, 
but  I  wouldn't  take  my  old  job  again  under  any  circum- 
stances. Besides,  I've  got  my  children  to  think  of,  and 
the  town's  no  place  for  them. 

"  I  make  a  specialty  of  vegetables,  and  it's  been  in- 
teresting learning  how  to  handle  'em  just  right.  I 
haven't  got  it  all  learned  yet,  and  wouldn't  if  I  lived  to 
be  two  or  three  hundred  years  old.  But  there's  no  one 
around  here  doing  any  better  with  garden  truck  than  I 
am.  When  we  have  a  fair  in  town  I  take  the  largest 
space  and  make  the  finest  show.  I  got  a  hundred  and 
sixty-two  dollars  last  year  in  premiums,  and  a  seed  man 
gave  me  twenty-five  dollars  for  the  privilege  of  hanging 
a  sign  over  my  display  saying  that  the  things  was  raised 
from  his  firm's  seed.  They  weren't,  but  'twas  a  good 
advertisement  for  him. 

"The  year  of  the  flood  I  lost  four  acres  of  stuff  and 
thought  myself  lucky  to  lose  no  more.  Most  of  the  land 
around  lay  lower  than  mine,  and  a  good  many  of  the 
neighbors  had  their  entire  crops  ruined.  The  flood 
come  about  the  first  of  June,  and  we'd  never  known 
anything  like  it.  The  Indians  told  of  a  similar  flood  in 
1844,  but  the  whites  had  lived  here  fifty  years  and  seen 
nothing  of  the  sort,  so  we  didn't  believe  the  Indians 
told  the  truth.  When  I  saw  the  water  spreading  all  over 
everywhere  I  drove  my  stock  to  the  hills  and  took  my 
family  along.  But  we  was  soon  back,  and  everything 
I  raised  sold  for  big  prices  the  season  through. 


2&  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

"That  flood  didn't  begin  to  be  as  serious  to  me  as  a 
hailstorm  we  had  early  in  the  summer  two  years  ago. 
Three  men  I'd  hired  by  the  day  had  been  helping  me, 
and  we'd  just  got  the  garden  cleaned  up  of  weeds.  It 
was  six  o'clock  and  time  to  quit  and  they  was  starting 
for  home.  But  I  said:  'The  clouds  look  pretty  black 
and  we're  goin'  to  have  a  bad  storm.  You  better  come 
in  my  cave  a  little  while  with  me  and  my  family.' 

"  So  we  all  went  to  the  cave  and  stayed  till  the  storm 
was  over.  It  destroyed  every  crop  I  had,  and  farther 
up  the  valley  it  was  a  real  cyclone  that  took  the  bark  off 
the  hedges  and  blowed  the  buildings  to  smithereens. 
One  man  there  was  laughed  at  by  his  family  for  bein' 
afraid,  because  he  wanted  'em  to  go  to  their  cave  when 
the  storm  was  approaching.  He  went  alone,  and  he  never 
saw  any  of  the  others  alive.  The  storm  took  the  whole 
outfit.  The  cyclones  do  some  funny  things.  I  knew  of 
a  baby  that  was  carried  half  a  mile  and  dropped  in  a 
graveyard  without  bein'  hurt  a  bit.  Another  queer  case 
was  that  of  a  fellow  who  was  landed  in  the  top  of  a  tree 
with  his  leg  broken.  He  lived,  but  he  was  never  good 
for  much  afterward.  There's  a  story,  too,  of  a  family 
that  had  started  to  run  from  the  back  door  to  their  cave 
when  a  cyclone  picked  'em  up  and  whirled  'em  off  for 
nine  or  ten  miles.  They  didn't  happen  to  hit  any  steeples 
or  trees  or  buildings,  and  pretty  soon  were  dropped 
down  right  where  they'd  started  from,  out  of  breath, 
but  all  safe  and  sound.  The  minister  heard  of  their 


Historic  Kansas  29 

escape  and  come  and  congratulated  'em,  and  he  ended 
up  by  shaking  hands  with  the  man  and  saying:  'Brother, 
the  Lord  was  with  you.' 

''  Well,  if  He  was,'  the  man  replies,  'all  I  can  say  is 
that  He  was  a-goin'  some.' 

"  Most  everyone  on  the  bottoms  has  a  cyclone  cellar. 
It  ain't  such  a  necessity  on  the  uplands;  for  the  air  up 
there  don't  get  heated  as  it  does  here  and  is  much  less 
apt  to  start  swirling.  Our  cyclones  are  electrical  storms 
with  lots  of  thunder  and  lightning,  and  the  noise  and 
the  flashes  are  so  near  when  the  storm  passes  over  that 
it  seems  like  as  not  you'd  get  hit.  I've  always  took  my 
family  to  the  cave  when  I  thought  there  was  any  danger; 
and  if  I'm  in  town  and  the  weather  looks  threatening 
I'll  telephone  out  and  caution  'em  to  keep  watch  and  go 
to  the  cave  in  time." 

The  man  showed  me  the  vegetables  he  was  raising 
on  his  land,  and  the  hotbeds  where  he  had  started 
sprouts  for  three  acres  of  sweet  potatoes.  "And  now," 
said  he,  when  the  tour  was  completed,  "come  into  the 
house  and  hear  a  tune  on  my  graphophone." 

So  he  ushered  me  into  his  tiny  parlor  where  I  sat  and 
listened  to  the  music.  When  this  entertainment  was 
concluded,  he  resumed  work  and  I  betook  myself  to  the 
highway.  Just  down  the  road  was  a  "traveller's" 
family  sitting  at  the  foot  of  a  great  cottonwood  tree  eat- 
ing dinner,  and  close  by  was  their  canvas-covered 
wagon.  Two  mules  and  a  horse  were  hitched  to  the 


30  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

wheels  and  they  were  munching  a  feed  of  corn,  or  nib- 
bling the  grass.  I  stopped  to  have  a  talk  with  this 
nomad  household,  and  the  man  said:  "I  been  in  Okla- 
homa for  six  years  where  I  had  a  quarter  section  of 
government  land.  We're  goin'  back  now  to  where  I 
used  to  live  in  Missouri." 

"Travelling  like  this  ain't  very  pleasant,"  remarked 
the  woman.  "  It's  too  dirty  for  me." 

"Yes,  and  the  children  get  uneasy  and  go  to  fighting," 
the  man  added.  "Some  days  are  pretty  hard  on  all  of 
us.  We  can  get  up  and  start  of  a  morning,  and  if  the 
roads  are  good  go  forty  mile  easy.  But  yesterday  the 
roads  was  bad,  and  it  was  hot,  so  my  team  was  tireder 
after  thirty  mile  than  they'd  been  any  day  before. 
There  are  regions  where  travellers  can't  always  get 
water,  but  we  don't  have  any  trouble  thataway  around 
here.  Sometimes  when  we  are  ready  to  stop  toward 
evening  we'll  run  onto  a  man  who  ain't  got  no  hay,  and 
we'll  have  to  drive  a  little  longer'n  we  really  like  to  in 
order  to  buy  feed.  We  stop  most  anywhere  that  night 
finds  us,  right  side  of  the  road,  and  tie  the  mules  and 
horse  to  the  wheels.  They  do  jam  around  a  good  deal, 
but  we've  got  used  to  that.  We  sleep  in  the  wagon. 
The  boys  have  a  place  under  the  seat,  and  the  rest  of  us 
settle  down  in  the  back  part." 

The  farmers  of  the  region  did  not  have  much  liking 
for  the  travellers.  "They  are  just  that  class  of  people 
who  want  to  live  without  work,"  one  man  informed  me. 


A  pause  in  the  day's  work 


Historic  Kansas  31 

"Of  course,  some  of  'em  are  all  right;  but  a  good  many 
just  start  out  in  the  fall  and  live  on  the  country.  They 
pick  lots  of  corn  along  the  roadsides  to  feed  their  horses, 
and  never  buy  nothin'  if  they  can  help  it.  Everything 
is  convenient  for  'em,  and  they'll  take  potatoes  and 
cabbages  and  fruit  and  once  in  a  while  pick  up  a  chicken. 
This  is  a  main  travelled  road,  and  I've  seen  the  same 
wagon  go  west  one  week  and  east  the  next,  and  you 
find  some  of  'em  goin'  the  year  around.  There'll  be  a 
man  and  wife  and  three  or  four  little  children,  and 
they'll  send  the  young  ones  in  to  the  houses  beggin'. 
The  children'll  tell  you  their  father's  sick  and  the  like 
o'  that,  and  yet  the  father  may  be  a  big  stout  man  with 
nothin'  the  matter  of  him  but  laziness.  Oh,  I  know 
that  to  be  a  fact.  There  was  once  some  of  those  children 
got  a  basket  of  potatoes  and  things  of  my  wife,  tellin' 
her  their  father  wa'n't  able  to  work;  but  I'd  seen  the 
family  by  the  roadside,  and  he  would  weigh  two  hun- 
dred pounds  and  was  takin'  care  of  the  horses.  He  was 
abler  to  work  than  I  am.  I  made  up  my  mind  that  the 
next  time  such  a  story  was  told  I'd  go  out  to  the  wagon 
and  see  if  the  old  man  really  was  sick.  I've  never 
knowed  of  any  of  'em  stoppin'  to  work.  They  could 
get  a  job  if  they  wanted  it.  No  one  need  holler  for  work 
in  this  country.  Offer  it  to  'em,  even  at  the  top  price, 
and  them  fellers'll  claim  they  ain't  able  to  work.  They 
mostly  disappear  in  the  winter,  and  I  reckon  they  go 
south  like  the  ducks  and  geese  to  where  it's  warm. 


32  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

"Do  you  see  all  these  loads  of  hay  goin'  to  town  on 
this  road  ?  It's  prairie  hay.  There's  lots  of  that  wild 
hay  cut — oh,  land,  yes!  Probably  twenty  or  thirty  tons 
pass  here  every  day.  We  raise  good  hay,  both  the  wild 
and  what  is  grown  on  the  cultivated  fields;  but  we 
ought  not  to  store  so  much  of  it  in  stacks.  Barn  hay 
always  brings  a  better  price,  and  there's  more  money 
lost  in  Kansas  every  year  by  having  hay  spoiled  or  hurt 
in  the  stacks  than  we  would  need  to  spend  to  build 
barns  to  shelter  it.  We've  had  good  seasons  ever  since 
1901,  but  that  year  the  weather  was  so  dry  at  harvest 
time  she  pretty  near  burnt  us  out — you  bet  she  did!  I 
was  fighting  fires  in  the  wheat  fields  for  seven  days  and 
five  nights.  The  fires  would  start  from  the  railroad 
engines.  So,  to  prevent  further  trouble,  the  railroads 
hired  teams  to  turn  a  furrow  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet 
from  the  rails  on  each  side,  and  burnt  off  all  between 
the  two  furrows  for  a  fire  guard.  They  burnt  off  an 
awful  sight  of  wheat  that  way,  but  they  paid  for  it." 

Across  the  road  a  man  was  ploughing,  and  he  had 
paused  to  give  his  panting  mules  a  rest.  "Where's 
your  boss?"  my  acquaintance  called  out.  "I  ain't 
seen  him  around  this  morning.  I  thought  he'd  be  out 
here  to  cuss  the  mules,  anyway." 

"They  need  it,"  responded  the  ploughman.  "These 
mules  are  contrary,  and  you  have  to  keep  your  eye  on 
'em  all  the  time.  We  had  a  good  pair  last  year,  but  the 
boss  sold  'em.  He's  the  darndest  man  that  way  ever  you 


Historic  Kansas  33 

see.  He'll  swap  or  sell  any  creature  he's  got,  right  on 
the  road,  if  he  meets  anyone  that  wants  to  dicker  with 
him." 

A  crop  of  "  cane  "  had  been  raised  on  the  field  the  year 
before.  "It's  a  kind  of  sorghum,"  the  man  explained, 
"and  it  makes  awful  nice  feed.  We  raise  it  for  our 
cattle,  but  it's  so  sweet  I  believe  this  'ere  would  be  all 
right  for  manufacturing  sugar.  The  stalks  grow  eight 
or  ten  feet  high — every  bit  of  it.  We  saved  a  powerful 
lot  of  seed  last  fall  and  would  have  got  more  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  the  English  sparrows.  They're  the  worst 
thing  on  earth  for  seed — them  birds.  There's  lots  of 
'em  around  every  farmhouse,  and  you've  got  to  keep 
all  the  holes  stopped  up  or  they'll  be  building  their  nest 
into  'em.  They  drive  away  the  other  birds  and  are  too 
blamed  lazy  to  hunt  for  food,  and  they  pay  no  attention 
to  the  bugs  and  worms.  When  you  feed  a  mess  to  your 
farm  animals  they  eat  it  up  for  you,  and  they'll  light  on 
your  apple  trees  and  pick  a  little  small  hole  in  nearly 
every  apple." 

The  field  in  which  the  ploughman  was  at  work  was 
fenced  with  a  thorny  osage  hedge,  which  he  had  trimmed 
and  adjusted  during  the  winter  so  that  it  was  "hog 
tight."  "There  ain't  nothing  can  go  through  that  now," 
he  affirmed;  "but  a  hedge  is  no  good,  by  gosh!  unless 
you  take  care  of  it.  You  need  to  trim  it  two  or  three 
times  a  year  so  as  to  keep  it  branching,  and  you've  got 
to  mow  the  weeds  along  the  sides.  That  there  little 


34  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

green  stuff  you  see  comin'  up  in  bunches  near  the  hedge 
is  wild  catnip.  It  is  a  good  deal  the  same  as  tame  catnip 
that  grows  in  the  gardens,  only  it'll  get  up  as  high  as 
your  head  in  summer,  and  unless  you  cut  it  the  shade 
will  kill  out  the  lower  branches  on  the  hedge.  Some 
farmers  let  the  hedge  alone  until  it's  grown  stalks  big 
enough  to  cut  for  wood  and  for  posts.  We  think  hedge 
wood  is  equal  to  coal,  and  a  hedge  post  will  outlast  one 
of  stone.  Hedges  are  at  present  the  commonest  kind  of 
fencing  here,  but  they  are  being  gradually  rooted 
out.  They  take  up  too  much  room,  and  they  sprout  up 
from  the  roots  and  keep  crowding  into  the  field  all  the 
time,  if  they're  neglected." 

The  ploughman  now  resumed  his  work  and  I  plodded 
on  along  the  highway.  About  noon  I  stopped  at  a  house 
and  asked  for  the  privilege  of  staying  to  dinner.  It  was 
not  quite  ready,  but,  as  usual,  I  was  welcome,  "if  I 
would  be  satisfied  with  what  they  had,"  and  I  sat  down 
on  the  piazza  where  a  lively  small  boy  entertained  me. 
He  pointed  toward  a  near-by  tree  and  said:  "Do  you 
see  the  nest  in  that  tree  ?  There's  eggs  in  it,  I  betcher. 
We  got  a  pie-aner.  That's  my  sister  you  hear  playing 
it.  She  learned  how  to  play  it  at  the  high  skewl." 

He  sang  snatches  of  the  song  she  was  playing,  and 
then  held  up  for  my  inspection  the  dry  discarded  shell 
of  a  big  beetle  which  he  had  in  his  hand.  "It's  a  sizzery 
bug,"  said  he,  poking  it  meditatively. 


Starting  his  garden 


Historic  Kansas  35 

Something  snapped  and  he  exclaimed:  "Well,  I'll  be 
dog-goned  if  I  didn't  shot  one  of  his  bones  out!" 

Just  then  the  boy's  father  happened  along  and  re- 
marked: "That's  a  dry  weather  fly.  They  make  a 
kind  of  a  funny  noise  buzzing  with  their  wings.  So  the 
kids  call  'em  sizzery  bugs.  We  see  'em  around  most  all 
summer,  but  they  don't  do  any  harm  that  I've  ever 
heard  anybody  say." 

The  housewife  now  called  us  in  to  dinner.  It  was  a 
substantial  and  palatable  meal,  and  one  of  the  table 
delicacies  was  white  clover  honey  from  hives  in  the 
yard.  "We  had  a  swarm  come  out  on  Sunday,"  said 
the  woman,  "and  I  told  my  husband  I  guessed  the 
weather  was  broke.  Anyhow,  it's  been  nice  ever  since, 
and  before  that  it  was  cold  and  disagreeable." 

After  we  finished  eating  I  asked  how  much  I  owed, 
and  when  the  woman  answered  rather  doubtfully  with- 
out naming  an  amount  I  handed  her  twenty-five  cents; 
but  she  said  fifteen  cents  was  enough  and  wanted  to 
give  me  the  difference. 

During  my  afternoon  ramble  I  stopped  at  one  of  the 
humbler  wayside  homes  to  ask  for  a  drink  of  water,  and 
a  tall  young  man  in  overalls  said  he  would  draw  some 
fresh  from  the  well  in  the  yard.  The  well  opening, 
which  was  even  with  the  ground,  was  covered  by  a  few 
loose  boards,  and  the  water  was  obtained  by  kneeling 
and  lowering  a  tin  pail  into  its  cool  depths.  Several 
rods  intervened  between  the  well  and  the  house — a 


36  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

weatherbeaten  little  structure  that  had  never  been 
painted.  The  barn  was  scarcely  more  than  a  shed,  but 
was  supplemented  by  a  cattleyard  with  a  gigantic  fence 
of  zigzag  rails.  Black  pigs  of  various  sizes  wandered 
about,  free  to  go  where  they  pleased,  and  the  cows  were 
grazing  in  the  highway.  The  young  man  and  I  sat 
down  for  a  chat  on  the  borders  of  a  mountainous  pile  of 
wood  that  was  near  the  back  door  sawed  and  split  ready 
for  burning.  He  said  "Dad"  was  a  "fifty-sixer,"  by 
which  he  meant  that  his  father  had  arrived  in  Kansas 
not  later  than  1856,  when  the  struggle  between  the  sup- 
porters of  slavery  and  abolition  ended  in  the  election  of 
a  free-state  legislature.  "If  you  want  to  know  anything 
about  those  times  he's  the  person  to  tell  you,"  my  com- 
panion explained.  "Some  of 'em — their  memory  fails 
'em;  but  that  ain't  so  with  Dad.  He'll  give  you  straight 
goods  right  from  the  word  go." 

The  old  man  was  baiting  cows  and,  with  the  help  of 
three  dogs,  seeing  that  they  did  not  stray  too  far.  He 
presently  came  hobbling  along  on  his  cane  and  sat  down 
with  us.  In  age  and  appearance  he  was  a  genuine 
patriarch,  one  of  the  earliest  pioneers.  "When  I  first 
got  here,"  said  he,  "people  was  comin'  in  lookin'  at  the 
country,  but  it  was  quite  a  number  of  years  before  they 
began  to  take  up  land.  I  worked  on  the  old  California 
Trail  freighting.  Now  and  then  I'd  see  a  buffalo 
skull  on  the  prairie,  but  the  buffaloes  themselves  were 
gone  and  the  hunting  was  nothin'  extra.  There  were 


Historic  Kansas  37 

wild  turkeys,  and  a  sprinkling  of  deer,  and  plenty  of 
coyotes;  and  you  can  tell  the  people  back  East  that  we 
have  coyotes  here  now  that  do  lots  of  damage.  I  hear 
'em  howlin'  every  few  nights. 

"Plenty  of  trees  grew  along  the  river,  but  as  soon  as 
you  got  out  of  the  bottoms  there  wasn't  a  stick  any- 
where. It  was  bare  as  could  be — all  prairie,  and  the 
most  desolate  lookin'  country  in  the  world.  After  the 
frosts  came  in  the  fall  the  grass  was  as  dry  as  a  powder 
house  and  the  Injuns  set  fire  to  burn  it  off  and  run  the 
game  into  the  timber.  Me  'n'  three  other  fellers  come 
pretty  near  gettin'  caught  in  a  prairie  fire  once.  We 
seen  it  far  off,  but  we  didn't  think  of  any  danger.  By 
and  by  we  was  goin'  down  hill  and  the  big  freight  wagons 
made  so  much  noise  we  didn't  notice  anything  unusual 
until  we  heard  a  roarin'  and  looked  back  and  saw  the 
fire  almost  on  us.  Oh,  my  goodness!  it  was  awful!  I 
hollered  that  we  was  goin'  to  be  burnt  up,  and  jumped 
off  to  see  if  I  could  start  a  fire  on  the  other  side  of  the 
road.  The  first  match  caught  and  the  fire  spread  from 
that  on  ahead  of  us  as  fast  as  a  horse  could  run.  We 
drove  onto  the  burnt  ground  just  in  time  to  save  our- 
selves from  the  fire  behind. 

"I  took  a  claim  over  in  the  timber  about  two  miles 
from  here  in  1854  and  built  me  a  log  cabin  with  a  stone 
chimney  and  a  big  fireplace.  There  wa'n't  another 
house  to  the  north  for  fifty  miles.  Not  long  afterward 
the  settlers  begun  to  come  in  rapid.  Lawrence  was  the 


38  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

Free  State  headquarters,  and  Massachusetts  was  rushin' 
in  as  many  people  as  it  could  to  make  Kansas  anti- 
slavery;  and  Missouri  had  a  rival  town  of  'border 
ruffians,'  as  we  called  'em,  and  was  tryin'  to  fix  things 
so  this  would  be  a  slave  state.  We  had  some  pretty 
savage  times.  There  was  robbin'  and  murderin',  and 
we  never  knew  when  we  was  safe.  One  time  my  brother 
and  me  was  in  Kansas  City,  and  we  found  the  border 
ruffians  was  planning  to  make  a  raid  on  Lawrence.  We 
went  and  see  'em  start,  and  then  we  was  goin'  to  hurry 
off  home  to  give  the  alarm,  but  I  took  a  chill  and  had  to 
lay  there  shakin'  for  two  or  three  hours.  After  that  we 
rode  as  fast  as  we  could  until,  half  way  home,  some  of 
the  outlaws  caught  me  and  made  me  give  up  my  horse. 
My  brother  escaped,  though  they  shot  at  him  twice. 
The  fellow  that  stole  my  horse  tried  to  sell  it  later;  but 
a  neighbor  of  mine  see  what  he  was  doin'  and  pitched 
onto  him.  Yes,  he  knocked  him  down  and  kicked  him 
so  three  of  his  ribs  was  broken.  Later  I  got  the  horse, 
but  it  had  been  run  almost  to  death. 

"The  raiders  burnt  the  Free  State  Hotel  at  Lawrence 
and  the  printing  office,  and  throwed  the  type  in  the 
river.  Then  they  went  back.  A  while  afterward  the 
Free  State  voters  won  in  the  election,  and  that  ended 
the  border  troubles.  But  things  was  worse  than  ever 
during  the  Civil  War.  There  was  a  gang  in  Lawrence 
that  called  themselves  Redlegs  or  Jayhawkers,  and  they 
was  about  as  bad  an  outfit  as  ever  there  was  in  any 


A  dooryard  well 


Historic  Kansas  39 

country.  They  claimed  to  be  on  the  Union  side,  and 
they'd  raid  down  into  Missouri  and  pretend  that  what 
they  stole  was  got  from  the  rebs.  But  it  didn't  make 
any  difference  who  they  robbed.  If  a  man  had  property 
he  was  their  meat.  There  were  cutthroats  on  both  sides 
in  that  war.  By  and  by  thirteen  hundred  guerrillas 
come  into  Lawrence  one  August  morning  about  sun- 
rise. A  company  of  colored  troops  was  bein'  recruited 
here,  and  the  raiders  begun  shootin'  them,  and  they 
killed  citizens,  too — one  hundred  and  fifty  persons  in 
all.  They  broke  open  the  safes  in  the  banks  and  stores 
and  got  a  lot  of  money,  and  they  burned  about  three- 
fourths  of  the  town  buildings. 

"One  of  the  persons  they  particularly  wanted  to 
shoot  was  the  chaplain  of  Lane's  regiment — a  man 
named  Fisher.  He  was  a  pretty  thrifty  fellow.  When 
he  was  movin'  around  with  the  troops  over  in  Missouri 
he'd  gather  up  mules,  which  he'd  send  here  and  later 
sell  to  the  government.  Once  when  they  was  in  a  rebel 
town  Colonel  Lane  come  across  him  lookin'  up  at  the 
steeple  on  a  church  and  asked  him  what  was  the  matter. 
"I  was  just  thinkin'  how  nice  that  spire  would  look 
on  my  new  church  back  in  Kansas,'  he  says. 

'Take  it  right  along,  Brother  Fisher;    take  it  right 
along,'  says  the  colonel. 

"Well,  Fisher  was  in  his  house  there  at  Lawrence, 
and  the  raiders  knew  it,  but  they  couldn't  seem  to  find 
him.  His  wife  had  hidjiim^away  somewhere  in  the 


4O  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

cellar.  They  give  up  searchin'  and  said  they  was  goin' 
to  burn  the  house,  and  Mrs.  Fisher  asked  if  she  could 
get  out  some  of  the  furniture  first.  They  said  she  could, 
and  she  managed  to  put  him  in  some  carpeting  and 
rolled  him  out  of  reach  of  the  fire  and  piled  chairs  and 
things  on  top  so't  the  raiders  never  had  any  idea  of  the 
trick  she'd  played  'em. 

"  I  lived  over  by  the  crick  then,  and  I'd  be  livin'  there 
now,  only  the  man  who  owned  this  farm  put  at  me  for 
a  trade — half  of  my  place  for  his  eighty  here.  His'n 
didn't  suit  him  because  it  hadn't  no  wood  on  it.  This 
is  a  pretty  good  farm  except  that  we  sometimes  run 
skurce  of  water.  But  there's  wells  within  a  mile  that 
never  fail,  and  we  don't  have  the  dry  weather  we  used 
to  have,  so  we  hain't  hauled  any  water  for  six  or 
seven  years." 

While  we  talked,  the  cattle  had  strayed,  and  the  old 
man  now  turned  to  his  son  and  said:  "Them  cattle  won't 
stay  nowhar.  Just  go  down  the  road  and  head  'em  off 
and  run  'em  in.  They've  e't  enough." 

This  brought  my  visit  to  an  end,  and  I  wended  my 
way  toward  the  town.  It  was  a  day  of  unusual  warmth 
for  the  season,  and  one  of  my  local  acquaintances  had 
remarked  that,  "When  the  weather  gets  so  sultry  it 
generally  winds  up  with  a  clap."  Sure  enough,  that 
night  the  wind  roared  threateningly  about  the  hotel  and 
the  rain  fell  in  torrents,  while  the  artillery  of  the  heavens 


Historic  Kansas  41 

flashed  and  crashed  in  wild  menace.  But  in  the  morn- 
ing the  sun  smiled  down  on  the  drenched  earth,  and 
Kansas  rejoiced,  for  the  rain  had  made  abundant  crops 
increasingly  certain  and  bestowed  still  more  wealth  on 
the  wide  realm  of  this  great  state's  thrifty  husbandmen. 

NOTE. — Kansas  has  comparatively  little  scenic  attraction,  except 
the  pastoral  charm  always  associated  with  rich-soiled,  well-cultivated 
farmlands.  This  agricultural  charm  is  nearly  universal;  but  the 
eastern  portion  is  perhaps  best  worth  seeing,  for  there  one  finds  a 
repose  that  only  comes  with  age,  and  a  humanized  touch  in  the  land- 
scape which  is  conferred  by  long  association  with  mankind  delving  in 
the  soil  and  making  permanent  homes.  Then,  too,  this  eastern  sec- 
tion has  seen  a  stirring  past,  and  it  is  a  pleasure  to  recall  the  wild  in- 
cidents of  the  anti-slavery  struggle,  and  of  the  Civil  War  in  the  vicinity 
where  those  events  occurred. 


Ill 

IN    OKLAHOMA 

ON  the  train  that  carried  me  into  Oklahoma  I 
made  the  acquaintance  of  a  citizen  of  the  state 
who  proceeded  to  enlighten  me  as  to  the  nature 
of  the  country  to  which  I  was  journeying.  The  climate 
was  superlatively  healthy,  the  winters  were  not  very 
cold  nor  the  summers  very  hot,  the  crops  were  always 
bountiful,  everybody  with  an  atom  of  thrift  was  pros- 
perous, and  in  character  and  intelligence  the  people 
were  the  pick  of  the  world. 

"Why,"  said  I,  "Oklahoma  is  going  to  be  one  of  the 
finest  states  in  the  Union,  isn't  it  ?" 

"No,"  he  responded,  "it  isn't  going  to  be — it  is  now;" 
and  he  went  on  to  tell  how  progressive  the  state  was, 
and  praised  the  excellence  of  their  laws,  and  declared 
that  they  enjoyed  all  the  comforts  that  could  be  had 
anywhere.  He  even  affirmed  that  the  wind  was  partial 
to  Oklahoma,  and  was  seldom  otherwise  than  gentle. 
In  his  enthusiasm  I  suppose  he  exaggerated  somewhat. 
At  any  rate  I  cannot  endorse  his  statement  as  to  the 
wind,  for  during  a  considerable  portion  of  my  stay  it 
was  blowing  like  the  mischief,  and  filling  the  air  with  a 
gritty  dust.  One  entire  day  it  held  me  an  indoor  prisoner 


Talking  business 


In  Oklahoma  43 

at  Kingfisher,  in  the  central  part  of  the  state.  The  gale 
kept  up  a  constant  rattling  and  banging,  even  rocking 
the  three-story  brick  hotel  I  was  in,  and  its  fiercer  gusts 
seemed  to  threaten  to  sweep  things  away  altogether. 

However,  there  were  other  less  boisterous  days  when 
I  contrived  to  do  a  good  deal  of  rambling.  Vegetation 
was  more  than  a  month  in  advance  of  that  in  the  north- 
ern states.  Roses  were  blooming  in  the  gardens,  and 
the  locust  trees,  which  abounded  both  in  the  town  and 
about  the  farmhouses,  perfumed  the  air  with  their 
pendent  clusters  of  blossoms.  The  wheat  was  knee- 
high  and  billowy  in  the  breeze,  the  corn  was  up,  and 
the  cotton  had  been  planted. 

The  newness  of  the  country  was  not  so  apparent  as  I 
expected.  There  are  many  Oklahoma  towns  still  raw 
and  forlorn,  but  Kingfisher  could  boast  of  frequent  sub- 
stantial business  blocks  among  the  other  slighter  struc- 
tures, and  its  dwellings  had  lawns  and  shrubbery  and  a 
goodly  showing  of  fair-sized  shade-trees.  Roundabout 
the  town  the  land  rose  and  fell  in  long  sweeps  with  an 
occasional  more  sudden  dip  into  a  gully.  The  roads 
were  monotonously  straight,  and  the  turns  were  always 
abrupt  right-angles  at  the  corners  of  the  sections.  Where 
the  roads  crossed  a  hollow  the  mud  had  washed  in  from 
the  fields,  and  where  they  were  on  rising  ground  the 
rains  had  worn  deep  ruts.  The  space  between  the 
barbed  wire  fences  that  divided  the  fields  from  the  high- 
way was  still  the  original  prairie,  and  when  a  track  be- 


44  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

came  very  bad  the  teams  simply  started  another  to  the 
right  or  the  left.  In  the  pastures  were  numerous  herds 
of  grazing  cattle,  and  nearly  every  farmer  had  a  drove 
of  hogs  browsing  in  an  alfalfa  field. 

One  doubtful  morning  I  accosted  an  old  negro  who 
was  fishing  on  the  wooded  banks  of  a  muddy  creek  and 
asked  him  if  it  was  going  to  rain. 

"You'll  have  to  ask  God,"  was  the  reply.  "He 
knows.  I  don't." 

That  a  fisherman  should  have  no  opinion  as  to  the 
weather  seemed  to  me  strange,  but  I  soon  found  out 
that  this  ancient  darkey  fished  every  day  from  morn  till 
night;  and  whether  the  skies  smiled  or  frowned  made 
no  difference  to  him.  What  he  caught  was  the  principal 
part  of  his  food,  and  often  he  secured  enough  so  that  he 
could  sell  a  few  pounds. 

Shortly  after  I  left  him  a  shower  made  me  seek  shelter, 
and  I  stopped  at  a  snug  little  farmhouse  with  quite  a 
charming  front  porch  covered  all  across,  except  the 
entrance,  by  a  flowering  vine.  The  tall  gray  farmer  was 
presently  telling  me  his  experiences.  "This  is  a  good 
country,"  said  he,  "when  there's  a  sufficient  rainfall  in 
the  crop-growing  season.  But  we  been  knocked  out 
two  or  three  times  by  havin'  it  too  dry.  Another  time 
we  had  the  green  bug.  Eighty  acres  of  wheat  and  oats 
that  I'd  put  in  never  yielded  a  grain  of  anything.  I 
first  noticed  trouble  in  March.  The  wheat  was  turning 
yellow,  and  I  looked  and  see  it  was  covered  with  little 


In  Oklahoma  45 

green  bugs.  They  jis'  sucked  the  life  out  of  it  and  left 
it  lookin'  as  if  there'd  been  a  drouth. 

"I'm  one  of  the  first  settlers  in  this  region.  The 
country  here  was  opened  up  on  April  22d,  1889.  About 
two  miles  west  of  Kingfisher  was  the  boundary,  and  it 
was  marked  with  posts  and  guarded  by  mounted  sol- 
diers. Nobody  was  supposed  to  cross  the  line  until  the 
appointed  time,  but  some  did.  We  called  them  "soon- 
ers,"  and  their  claims  were  no  good  if  their  early  start 
could  beprovedon  'em.  Quite  a  number  of 'em  had  to  go 
to  the  pen  for  swearing  falsely.  People  come  from  allover 
to  get  a  chance  at  this  new  land — and  quite  a  few  women 
come  as  well  as  men.  They  were  arrivin'  for  a  week 
beforehand  and  camped  close  by  the  line  in  tents  or 
lived  in  their  covered  wagons,  and  they  brought  their 
ploughs  and  everything  all  ready  to  go  to  work. 

"Twelve  o'clock  was  the  hour  that  the  race  was  to 
begin.  We  was  there  along  the  line  ready,  dozens 
deep,  and  everybody  was  goodnatured  and  jokin'  and 
singin'.  The  crowd  was  plumb  thick  where  I  was  be- 
cause it  was  opposite  a  town  site.  Up  and  down  as  far 
as  we  could  see  was  the  soldiers  settin'  on  their  horses 
at  regular  intervals,  and  when  the  time  come  they  gave 
the  signal  by  firin'  their  revolvers.  Then  we  all  rushed 
forward  as  tight  as  we  could  go.  You  could  take  your 
pick  and  have  any  one  hundred  and  sixty  acres  you 
wanted  if  you  got  it  first.  I  was  on  foot  and  only  run  a 
little  way,  but  most  were  on  horseback  or  muleback. 


46  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

When  I  stopped  I  stood  and  watched  the  others  going 
on  toward  the  town  site  under  the  whip  jis'  like  a  horse 
race.  Oh,  my  stars!  how  they  run!  Most  generally 
each  man  took  a  spade  with  him,  and  as  soon  as  he  de- 
cided he'd  reached  as  good  a  piece  of  land  as  he  was 
likely  to  get  he'd  jump  right  off  and  go  to  diggin'  to 
throw  up  a  little  mound.  On  top  of  that  he'd  stick  up  a 
shingle  with  his  name  on  it.  Then  he'd  go  back  to 
camp,  hitch  up  his  team,  and  take  it  to  his  claim  and 
begin  ploughing.  But  perhaps  by  the  time  he  got  there 
he'd  find  someone  else  ploughing  on  that  land.  There 
was  a  fuss  then,  sure.  Often  two  or  three  would  get  on 
the  same  claim  and  tear  down  each  other's  signs,  and 
they  might  keep  on  till  they  got  into  a  shooting  scrape. 

"The  next  day  the  land  office  opened,  and  we  began 
to  file  our  claims.  When  I  got  there  considerable  of  a 
line  had  already  formed  and  I  had  to  take  my  place  at 
the  end  and  wait  my  turn.  I  stood  there  from  morning 
till  night,  and  it  was  terribly  windy,  dusty  and  hot. 
Fellers  come  around  carryin'  grub  to  us,  and  we'd  buy 
and  eat  it  without  leavin'  the  line.  A  long  file  of  us  was 
still  waiting  when  the  land  office  closed  for  the  day,  and 
some,  in  order  not  to  lose  their  places,  camped  right 
where  they  were. 

"Those  that  did  the  best  in  the  rush  were  the  ones 
that  got  the  town  lots.  They  made  a  good  thing.  But 
I  knew  one  old  fellow  who  said  he'd  picked  out  the  best 
site  in  town  and  intended  to  start  a  hotel,  and  when  they 


In  Oklahoma  47 

surveyed  he  found  his  claim  was  right  in  the  middle  of  a 
street  so  he  had  to  move.  There  were  lots  of  disputes 
for  the  courts  to  settle  between  parties  on  the  same 
claim. 

"I  had  trouble  about  my  claim  with  a  widow  who 
seemed  to  think  she  was  on  it  first.  She  was  a  very  nice 
old  woman,  and  people  joked  considerable  because  I 
was  a  widower,  and  they  said  our  dispute  could  be  fixed 
up  all  right.  But  I  got  out. 

"As  a  whole,  the  newcomers  were  a  good  respectable 
class  of  people,  and  yet  there  were  some  pretty  tolerable 
rough  ones.  A  horse  thief  took  this  claim  that  I'm  on 
now;  but  in  a  little  while  he  sold  out,  stole  what  he 
could,  and  left.  There  ain't  only  a  few  of  the  old  settlers 
that  have  stayed  in  the  region.  Most  of  'em  have  gone, 
and  many  places  have  changed  hands  three  or  four 
times. 

"Grub  at  first  was  most  awful  scarce,  and  we  was 
too  late  the  first  year  to  raise  much  except  turnips  and 
watermelons  and  kaffir  corn.  But  those  turnips  was 
the  biggest  I  ever  did  see.  We  fed  'em  to  our  chickens, 
fatted  our  hogs  with  'em,  and  made  slaw  to  eat  ourselves. 
The  railroad  hadn't  been  built,  and  all  our  supplies 
were  freighted  in  on  wagons.  Times  got  so  hard  lots  of 
men  was  discouraged.  If  a  feller  come  along  and 
offered  one  hundred,  one  hundred  and  fifty,  or  two 
hundred  for  a  claim,  the  owner  would  very  likely  sell 


48  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

and  go  back  to  his  wife's  people.  But  after  we  got  our 
first  crop  we  began  to  live  and  get  ahead. 

"I  don't  like  the  winter  here.  It's  too  chilly  and 
rainy.  Then  in  the  summer  the  weather  is  apt  to  get  so 
terribly  hot  we  can  hardly  stand  it.  I  shall  always  re- 
member the  second  of  May,  1892.  I  saw  three  cyclones 
that  day,  and  the  last  one  I  saw  a  little  too  plain.  I'd 
been  to  town  for  a  load  of  lumber,  and  the  air  was  so 
red  hot,  I  said  to  myself:  'A  storm'll  come  up  after 
this!'  Oh,  it  was  jis'  so  hot  it  almost  burned  me.  Our 
cows  was  in  a  corral  down  by  the  stream,  and  toward 
night  my  hired  man  said  it  was  time  to  go  and  milk  'em. 
"I  don't  like  the  looks  of  the  clouds,'  I  said,  'and  I 
ain't  goin'  away  from  the  house,  but  if  you  want  to  do 
the  milkin'  go  ahead.' 

"So  he  went  along,  and  I  stood  right  in  the  yard 
watchin'  the  clouds.  Pretty  soon  I  see  'em  comin'  to- 
gether from  all  directions  about  a  mile  south  of  us,  and 
I  run  to  the  house  and  told  the  folks  we  was  goin'  to 
have  a  cyclone  and  they'd  better  get  out.  The  safest 
place  I  knowed  of  was  a  stable  I'd  dug  about  four  feet 
down  into  the  ground.  It  was  roofed  over  with  sticks 
and  there  was  hay  thrown  on  to  shed  the  rain.  We  got 
into  a  corner  of  that,  and  I  said  to  my  oldest  son  who 
was  man-grown:  'We'll  stand  over  the  balance  of  'em 
to  kind  o'  protect  'em.' 

"Then  the  storm  passed  above  us  with  a  roarin'  noise 
like  a  train,  and  the  only  harm  it  did  to  the  stable  was 


In  Oklahoma  49 

to  flop  the  hay  from  the  north  end  onto  the  south  end. 
There  wa'n't  no  time  to  think,  it  was  all  over  so  much 
quicker  than  anything  else  that  happens.  I  run  out 
and  looked  around,  and  there  was  no  house  nor  any- 
thing else  hardly  left.  The  hottest  kind  of  air  had  come 
from  that  cyclone,  and  I  was  nearly  suffocated  with  it. 
In  the  distance  I  could  see  the  storm  goin'  off,  and  it 
was  plumb  black.  Three  miles  from  here  it  struck  a 
house  and  killed  a  boy;  and  not  far  beyond  there  it 
broke  loose  from  the  ground.  A  feller  who  happened 
to  be  near  by,  and  who  had  run  into  a  patch  of  willows 
to  save  himself,  said  it  went  up  with  a  whistle  jis'  like 
a  steam  engine. 

"  I  told  you  how  my  hired  man  started  to  go  to  milk 
the  cows.  About  the  time  he  got  to  the  pasture  the 
wind  come  and  knocked  down  a  big  sorrel  horse  that 
was  close  beside  him;  but  the  horse  wa'n't  hurt  and  it 
got  up  and  run  off  across  the  field.  The  man  saved  him- 
self by  ketchin'  hold  of  a  little  ellum  tree,  and  he  held 
on  until  the  worst  was  over.  Then  he  hurried  to  see 
whether  we'd  escaped.  The  house  was  tore  all  to  pieces 
and  nothin'  was  to  be  found  of  it  but  splinters.  I  had  a 
right  new  wagon  in  the  yard  that  I  hadn't  used  more'n 
six  months,  and  one  of  the  tricks  of  the  cyclone  was  to 
take  that  wagon  a  mile  up  on  the  prairie,  where  it  was 
dropped  with  the  iron  parts  all  twisted  up  and  the 
wooden  parts  all  broke  to  bits.  At  the  corner  of  my 
house  stood  a  barrel  of  salt  with  a  harness  layin'  on  it. 


50  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

Well,  sir,  the  cyclone  left  the  harness  there  in  a  pile  on 
the  ground,  but  took  the  barrel  of  salt  and  broke  it  up 
and  scattered  it  all  around.  Near  the  barrel  I  had  a  hen 
and  twenty  chickens  in  a  coop,  but  only  one  chicken 
escaped.  Such  a  storm  will  sometimes  snatchthe  feathers 
all  off  of  a  hen.  I've  got  a  cyclone  cellar  now,  and  we 
don't  take  any  chances.  When  we  see  a  storm  comin' 
up  toward  night  on  a  hot  day  we  jis'  go  in  there  for  a 
while." 

I  ate  dinner  at  the  old  settler's  and  had  an  excellent 
repast  that  was  not  at  all  in  need  of  the  housewife's 
apologies  for  its  shortcomings,  except  in  the  matter  of 
milk  and  butter.  It  seemed  that  wild  onions  abounded 
in  the  pastures  at  this  season  and  were  much  to  the  lik- 
ing of  the  cows.  As  a  result  the  milk  was  strongly 
flavored,  and  the  butter  was  neither  good  butter  nor 
good  onions. 

"We've  sometimes  thought  we'd  like  to  sell  out;" 
remarked  the  woman,  "but  when  we  wanted  to  sell  we 
couldn't,  and  when  we  could  sell  we  wouldn't.  I  was 
tellin'  my  daughter  yesterday,  says  I:  'I'm  ready  to 
move  any  time  your  paw  is.'  Don't  you  know,  people 
get  awful  tired  of  living  at  one  place;  but  law!  you  lose 
more  in  travellin'  around  than  you  gain." 

"The  Germans  are  buying  up  a  good  many  of  the 
farms  hereabouts,"  said  the  man,  "and  it  don't  take  'em 
long  to  pay  for  a  place." 


Evening  by  the  creekside 


In  Oklahoma  51 

"Well,  and  that's  no  wonder,"  commented  the  wo- 
man. "They  all  work  like  dogs  to  get  ahead — the 
whole  family,  even  the  little  tots  no  more  than  knee- 
high  to  a  duck.  The  children  will  drive  the  cattle  three 
or  four  miles,  may  be,  to  pasture,  and  the  girls'll  haul 
to  town  and  work  in  the  fields.  Them  girls  have  a 
whole  lot  better  health,  too,  than  American  girls,  be- 
cause they're  so  much  out  in  the  air;  and  the  women- 
see  how  tough  and  hardy  they  are!  I've  heard  tell  that 
Dutchmen  wa'n't  good  to  their  wives,  but  that's  a  mis- 
take. Their  women  would  rather  do  field  work  than 
not,  and  are  often  as  much  the  boss  of  the  farm  as  the 
men.  The  American  people  are  gettin'  lazier  and 
lazier,  and  the  women  never  think  of  working  outdoors. 
German  girls  will  do  all  that  a  young  man  of  their  age'll 
do  except  the  heavy  muscular  work.  You'll  find  'em 
out  every  day  driving  the  ploughs  and  harrows  and 
binders,  while  American  girls  jis'  stick  around  the 
house." 

"It  ain't  hard,  running  our  machines,"  said  the  man. 
"Take  ploughing — you  can  sit  on  the  seat  and  ride,  and 
when  you  get  tired  of  that  you  can  walk  along  behind. 
Our  fields  are  usually  pretty  level  and  they're  often  half 
a  mile  across,  and  you  drive  right  along  with  no  change 
only  to  turn  at  the  corners.  After  you've  adjusted  your 
plough  at  the  start  to  have  it  go  as  deep  as  you  want  it 
should,  you  don't  have  to  touch  it  all  day.  A  girl  of 
thirteen,  who  can  drive,  is  jis'  as  good  at  ploughing  as  a 


52  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

man.     Why,  I  had  a  nigger  once  workin'  for  me,  and 
he  used  to  hunt  rabbits  while  his  team  ploughed." 

"I  was  raised  up  to  cook  and  take  care  of  the  house 
for  a  family  of  five,"  said  the  woman,  "and  I  thought  I 
was  a  terrible  worker;  but  my  father  told  me  I  didn't 
know  nothin'  about  work,  and  I  reckon  he  was  right. 
It  would  be  a  good  thing  if  farmers'  wives  were  more 
expert  out  of  doors,  for  then  if  a  woman  was  ever  left  a 
widow  it  wouldn't  paralyze  her." 

"  Late  years  it's  been  almost  impossible  to  git  hands," 
the  man  observed.  "There  used  to  be  fellers  come  along 
and  beg  for  work,  but  they  don't  any  more.  We  hired 
niggers  considerable  until  they  got  too  triflin'  and 
ornery.  The  only  way  to  git  a  nigger  on  the  farm  now 
is  to  rent  him  a  few  acres  for  a  share  in  the  crop,  and 
furnish  him  everything  to  work  with.  A  number  of  'em 
owns  land  here.  They  went  and  tuck  up  claims  in 
some  sandy  country  that  the  whites  didn't  think  was 
worth  anything,  and  they  raise  good  cotton  there.  A 
few  years  ago  one  of  these  colored  men  got  up  a  colony 
to  go  to  Africa.  They  sold  out  their  claims  for  five  or 
six  hundred  dollars  apiece  and  started.  A  good  many 
become  discouraged  and  turned  back  at  New  York,  but 
others  went  on  clear  to  Africa.  They  didn't  like  it 
there,  though.  The  climate  didn't  suit  'em,  and  some 
died,  and  all  the  rest  come  back  that  was  able  to  do  so." 

"The  darkeys  are  jis'  no  account  on  earth,"  declared 
the  woman.  "Let  'em  live  among  you  and  have  their 


In  Oklahoma  53 

own  way,  and  they  would  lead  you  a  merry  gait.  They 
sure  are  overbearing.  I  drove  into  one  of  their  yards  in 
town  by  mistake  and  across  a  corner  of  a  garden,  and  a 
woman  come  out  and  give  me  fits  for  goin'  on  her  land. 
Apologies  didn't  make  any  difference.  She  kept  right 
on  a-scoldin'.  It  made  me  feel  awful  cheap.  In  some 
towns  they  won't  allow  any  darkey  after  sunset.  The 
darkeys,  too,  have  several  towns  of  their  own  where 
they  make  the  same  laws  about  the  whites." 

The  Indians  are  another  race  much  in  evidence  in 
the  region.  Industrially  they  do  not  count  at  all,  but 
they  come  and  go  on  the  trains  and  loiter  in  purposeless 
meditation  for  hours  at  a  time  on  the  town  streets.  It 
was  quite  evident  that  they  did  not  have  to  work  to  live, 
and  that  they  had  been  wholly  unable  to  get  into  har- 
mony with  the  white  man's  civilization.  One  of  the 
town  merchants  who  had  dealt  with  them  a  good  deal 
enlightened  me  as  to  their  habits. 

"They  have  a  monthly  allowance  of  eight  or  ten  dol- 
lars apiece  from  the  government,"  said  he,  "and  when 
their  lands  were  set  off  a  few  years  ago  every  darn  one 
of  'em,  little  and  big,  got  a  quarter  section.  That  land 
they  lease,  and  it  brings  'em  a  nice  little  income.  The 
whites  raise  wheat  on  it;  but  if  an  Indian  would  let  a 
white  man  build  his  home  on  the  land,  the  white  man 
could  agree  to  hand  over  a  third  of  the  crop,  and  when 
the  time  come  give  him  a  fifth,  and  both  parties  be  better 
off  than  at  present. 


54  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

"If  an  Indian  gets  any  money,  he  ain't  happy  till  he 
spends  it.  Maybe  he'll  buy  a  two  hundred  and  fifty 
dollar  carriage,  and  he'll  ride  around  in  it  for  a  while 
and  leave  it  out  in  the  rain  and  the  broiling  hot  sun  till 
the  paint  comes  off.  Then  he'll  drive  to  town  and  sell 
it  for  fifty  dollars  or  possibly  thirty-five.  Perhaps  in- 
stead of  a  carriage  he'll  buy  a  team  and  pay  seventy-five 
dollars  on  it  and  give  a  mortgage  for  the  rest.  By  and 
by  he  gets  hard  up  and  raises  a  little  money  by  mort- 
gaging the  team  to  someone  else.  In  the  end  the  first 
man  duns  for  the  balance  that's  due  him,  and  the  In- 
dian surrenders  the  team  and  loses  what  he'd  paid. 
At  one  time  the  government  furnished  the  Indians  with 
brand-new,  spankin'-nice  ploughs.  But  they  just  let 
'em  lie  around.  Such  ploughs  would  cost  twenty-five 
dollars  apiece,  and  yet  if  a  white  man  come  along  and 
offered  three  dollars  for  one  the  Indian  would  sell.  He 
didn't  like  the  plough  anyway. 

"I  know  an  Indian  out  here  named  Little  Snake, 
who  owns  fifteen  quarters  of  land  and  has  built  a  three- 
room  house.  One  day  he  bought  a  wagon-load  of  furni- 
ture in  town.  I  saw  him  driving  past  with  it  on  his  way 
home,  and  I  made  the  remark  to  my  wife,  'What  in 
thunder  do  you  s'pose  Little  Snake  wants  of  that  bunch 
of  furniture  ? ' 

"Well,  he'd  bought  a  lot  of  bug  juice  here,  too,  and 
he  was  drunk  before  he  left  the  town,  and  by  the  time 
he  reached  home  he  was  good  and  drunk.  Amongst 


In  Oklahoma  55 

the  rest  of  his  new  furniture  was  a  nice  dresser,  and 
when  he  was  unloading  that  dresser  the  next  morning 
he  saw  himself  in  the  mirror,  and  he  thought  the  glass 
was  libelling  him.  He's  got  a  nose  five  times  as  big  as 
mine,  and  it's  all  pitted  with  the  smallpox — so  he's  no 
beauty  at  any  time,  and  he  looked  rather  worse  than 
usual  on  account  of  his  drunk.  He  wouldn't  stand  for 
what  he  saw  in  the  mirror,  and  he  took  a  hammer  and 
smashed  the  glass  all  to  pieces. 

"Another  Indian  bought  a  hearse  at  a  cost  of  several 
hundred  dollars.  He'd  never  before  seen  anything  in 
the  line  of  a  riding  carriage  that  was  quite  so  grand,  and 
he  used  to  take  great  pride  in  driving  around  the  country 
with  it.  Oh,  these  Indians  are  the  most  careless,  do- 
less  people  on  earth.  The  tribes  used  to  be  fightin' 
each  other  all  the  time,  and  now  that  they  ain't  allowed 
to  fight  they're  at  a  loss  how  to  spend  their  time.  Some 
of  the  young  fellows  are  quite  civilized  and  smart;  but 
the  old  bucks  are  wild — just  like  a  buffalo — you  can't 
teach  'em  anything.  There's  only  one  Indian  I  know 
of  in  the  whole  compoodle  of  'em  who'll  mow  his  own 
grass.  But  they  will  occasionally  band  together  and 
work  in  the  harvest,  and  they'll  pick  cotton.  Then,  too, 
the  women  do  considerable  of  this  bead  work  that's 
sold  in  the  stores. 

"They  don't  trust  us.  They  think  every  white  man 
is  beating  them.  'White  man  lie,'  they  say.  I  don't 
trust  the  Indians  any  more  than  they  trust  us.  They've 


56  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

always  stuck  me  on  everything  I've  sold  'em  unless  I've 
got  my  pay  at  the  time.  They  travel  about  a  good  deal 
on  the  trains  or  on  horseback.  You  don't  see  'em  goin' 
afoot.  They're  too  lazy.  They  won't  even  exert  them- 
selves to  fish  or  hunt — though  if  an  eagle  shows  up 
they'll  follow  that  till  doomsday  to  get  it.  They  use  the 
feathers  to  make  a  war  bonnet,  which  they  keep  as  a 
choice  piece  of  finery.  But  sooner  or  later  they  get  hard 
up  and  bring  it  to  town  and  sell  it  for  from  fifteen  to 
twenty-five  dollars.  If  you  start  in  to  hunt  on  their  land 
they'll  very  soon  see  you  and  come  and  look  and  look, 
standing  first  on  one  foot  and  then  on  the  other.  Finally 
they'll  speak  and  say,  'No  hunt,  no  hunt.' 

'Well,'  you  say,  'I  just  want  to  shoot  a  few  rabbits 
and  quail.    I  won't  get  'em  all.' 

"But  they  repeat:    'No  hunt,  no  hunt!' 
"Then  you  put  your  hand  in  your  pocket  and  pay 
'em  fifty  cents,  and  you  can  hunt  all  you  want  to,  and 
Mr.  Indian  won't  show  himself  again  that  day. 

"They  all  like  firewater.  It's  against  the  law  to  sell 
it  to  'em;  but  they'll  give  some  low  down  nigger  or 
other  cuss  a  dollar  and  tell  him  to  go  and  get  them  a 
pint.  So  he'll  buy  a  pint  for  fifty  cents  and  keep  the 
change,  and'll  hide  the  bottle  in  a  place  agreed  on  where 
the  Indians  can  find  it.  I've  known  these  fool  Indians 
to  buy  patent  medicines  and  flavoring  essences  to  drink 
for  the  alcohol  that's  in  'em.  After  a  fellow's  got  medi- 


In  Oklahoma 


57 


cine  enough  inside  to  feel  happy  he  perhaps  gets  on  his 
horse  and  gallops  it  up  and  down  the  street.  He  ain't 
content  with  just  plain  riding,  and  he  makes  the  horse 
r'ar  up  and  go  along  on  its  haunches.  As  soon  as  the 
horse  stops  the  Indian  tumbles  off.  In  some  cases  drink 
makes  the  drinkers  ugly,  and  two  or  three  of 'em'll  go  to 
fighting  and  pretty  near  chop  each  other  all  up;  or 
they'll  want  to  go  on  a  stampede  and  scalp  the  first 
white  man  they  meet." 

The  nearest  of  the  various  Indian  camps  in  the  vicin- 
ity was  Chief  Bullbear's,  about  three  miles  from  the 
town  and  nearly  a  mile  from  the  highway.  One  morn- 
ing I  went  to  have  a  look  at  it.  In  order  to  get  to  the 
scattered  group  of  houses  that  comprised  the  homes  of 
the  half  dozen  families  who  accepted  Bullbear  as  their 
chief  I  had  to  crawl  through  several  barbed  wire  fences. 
These  inclosed  the  big  pastures  and  cultivated  fields, 
most  of  which  had  been  leased  to  the  whites.  The 
fences  were  not  at  all  romantic,  nor  were  the  Indian 
homes  much  more  so.  The  banks  of  the  creek  were 
wooded,  but  the  houses  were  on  the  level  prairie,  and 
their  bareness  was  unrelieved  by  trees,  vines  or  gardens. 
Through  an  open  door  I  observed  one  family  at  break- 
fast. At  the  far  side  of  the  room  was  a  cook-stove  with 
shiny  nickel  decorations;  but  there  were  no  chairs  or 
tables,  and  the  dishes  and  food  were  distributed  all  over 
the  floor.  Men,  women,  and  children  were  squatted 
about  amid  the  medley  and  were  apparently  going  to 
spend  most  of  the  day  at  their  feast. 


58  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

Bullbear's  house  was  painted  sky  blue  with  red  trim- 
mings. In  one  corner  of  the  yard  was  a  pump  that 
looked  as  if  it  would  not  work,  in  which  respect  it  was 
like  its  owner.  Four  or  five  half-wild  dogs  were  loiter- 
ing around,  and  they  growled  at  me  suspiciously. 

Bullbear  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  little  piazza,  a  grim 
and  wrinkled  patriarch.  To  his  right  and  left,  perched 
along  in  a  row,  were  a  number  of  squaws  and  children. 
One  of  the  women,  Hattie  Stumphorn  by  name,  had 
been  to  school  in  her  youth,  and  could  talk  very  good 
English;  but  except  for  her  first  name  and  her  linguis- 
tic ability  I  could  not  see  that  she  was  much  different 
from  the  rest  of  the  Indians.  I  had  hoped  to  find  them 
living  in  tepees.  There  was,  however,  only  one  tepee  in 
the  camp.  This  was  in  a  yard  and  served  the  family 
for  a  warm  weather  residence.  Near  the  tepee  I  was 
interested  to  observe  a  lawn  mower.  It  was  in  the  midst 
of  a  grass  patch,  and  I  inferred  that  the  owner  had  been 
disappointed  in  it  and  had  stopped  right  there  dis- 
couraged. Probably  he  was  surprised  to  find  it  was 
more  work  than  fun  to  run  the  contrivance. 

In  a  pasture  not  far  away  was  a  prairie  dog  village 
which  I  found  decidedly  more  lively  than  the  Indian 
camp.  Around  each  burrow  was  a  conical  heap  of  dirt 
with  the  hole  in  the  middle,  and  these  mounds,  a  rod  or 
two  apart,  scattered  away  as  far  as  I  could  see.  On 
the  mounds  that  were  at  a  safe  distance  the  little  dogs 
sat  upright  watching  me;  while  on  the  mounds  some- 


In  Oklahoma  $9 

what  nearer  were  other  dogs,  likewise  watchful,  but 
standing  on  all  fours  ready  to  dodge  down  into  the  holes. 
Each  dog  kept  up  an  incessant  racket  of  short,  squeaky 
barks;  and  at  every  yelp  he  gave  a  jerk  to  his  tiny  tail. 
Numerous  small  gray  owls  were  sitting  on  the  mounds 
with  the  dogs,  or  flitting  about.  Many  rattlesnakes  also 
dwell  in  the  dog  towns  and  are  to  be  found  at  home  in 
the  burrows  with  the  dogs  and  owls.  These  various 
creatures  constitute  a  friendly  and  happy  family,  ex- 
cept that  the  snakes  have  an  unfortunate  habit  of  eat- 
ing the  young  dogs. 

Other  wild  life  was  not  lacking  in  the  Indian  vicinity. 
Sometimes  a  long-legged  Jack  rabbit  would  streak 
away  with  the  swiftness  of  the  wind  for  a  short  distance, 
then  pause  a  moment  with  alert,  sensitive  ears  to  study 
my  intentions;  sometimes  a  half  dozen  quail  sprang 
into  sudden  flight  from  beside  my  path;  and  once  a 
crane,  known  as  a  "shikepoke,"  flew  up  from  a  wet 
hollow  with  dangling  legs  and  broad  wings  and  dis- 
appeared over  the  trees  that  bordered  the  creek. 

When  I  returned  to  the  highway  the  chief  from  the 
next  camp  beyond  Bullbear's  came  along  in  a  shabby 
old  buggy,  driving  a  scrawny  pair  of  ponies.  He  at  once 
offered  me  a  ride,  and  I  went  to  town  in  his  company. 

On  my  last  evening  in  Kingfisher  I  came  across  a  bit 
of  news  in  a  local  paper  that  ran  as  follows: 

"While  our  town  has  long  borne  the  name  of  being 
the  home  of  some  of  the  most  distinguished  and  politi- 


60  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

cal  men  of  Oklahoma  she  has  another  honor — one 
which  very  few  of  the  largest  cities  can  boast.  This 
new  honor  is  brought  upon  us  by  a  woman,  Mrs.  I.  S. 
Blank,  the  only  successful  lady  novelist  in  the  State  of 
Oklahoma.  Mrs.  Blank's  great  gift  has  been  known  to 
only  a  few  very  intimate  friends  until  a  short  time  ago 
when  her  first  publication  was  accepted  by  a  Boston 
publisher.  The  novelist  receives  $35,000  for  the  copy- 
right, and  five  hundred  volumes  as  a  gift  from  the  pub- 
lishing company.  The  novel  will  contain  a  beautiful 
lithograph  of  the  lady  composer.  Mrs.  Blank  is  in  the 
prime  of  life,  highly  cultured  and  educated.  During 
her  early  residence  here  she  was  a  leader  in  social  cir- 
cles, but  growing  weary  of  the  general  routine  of  func- 
tions she  withdrew  from  society  and  of  late  years  has 
devoted  her  time  to  the  home  life,  and  here  in  the  pri- 
vacy of  her  own  home  she  has  put  her  noble  thoughts 
in  volume,  to  be  read  and  enjoyed  by  generations  to 
come." 

When  I  perused  the  above  and  heard  from  the  towns- 
people that  the  lady  herself  had  made  the  statements 
printed  about  her  book  I  could  not  doubt  but  that  the 
town  indeed  had  a  really  remarkable  romancer. 

NOTE. — I  think  the  attraction  of  Oklahoma  for  the  stranger  con- 
sists largely  in  its  newness,  and  in  observing  what  progress  has  been 
made  in  the  short  period  that  has  elapsed  since  it  became  a  white  man's 
land.  Wherever  you  go,  the  wonder  is  to  find  so  much  accomplished 
and  such  numbers  of  people  and  large  towns  where  were  only  prairie 


In  Oklahoma  61 

and  Indians  a  few  years  ago.  Visit  Guthrie  and  Oklahoma  City 
for  examples  of  what  the  state's  larger  communities  are,  and  go  out 
and  see  something  of  the  vastness  of  the  farming  country.  The  In- 
dians, too,  are  worthy  of  attention,  though  amid  the  tides  of  civiliza- 
tion flowing  around  them  and  the  busy  agricultural  thrift  of  the  whites, 
they  seem  incongruous  and  at  a  loss  to  make  the  transition  from  the 
savage  freedom  of  their  fathers  to  the  workaday  necessities  of  the 
present. 


IV 

A   TEXAS    BUBBLE 

FOR  hundreds  of  miles,  as  the  train  sped  along 
toward  the  Gulf,  I  had  been  in  typical  Southern 
country.  That  is,  there  were  long  reaches  of  oak 
and  pine  forest,  and  little  sawmill  villages,  and  negro 
cabins  with  stick  and  clay  chimneys  at  one  end,  and 
many  broad  acres  of  corn  and  cotton.  My  destination 
was  Beaumont,  and  during  the  final  hour  or  two  I  ob- 
served that  the  streams  and  pools  beside  the  tracks  had 
an  oily  scum  on  them.  A  further  evidence  that  I  was 
coming  into  the  famous  oil  region  was  the  odor  of  the 
smoke  from  the  steam  engine,  for  oil  has  long  been  the 
standard  fuel  of  the  railroads  in  this  district. 

Beaumont  became  a  bonanza  oil  town  in  1901,  and 
the  story  of  its  rise  to  fame  is  decidedly  picturesque. 
This  story  has  often  been  told,  but  I  got  a  fresh  version, 
with  many  touches  of  originality,  from  a  local  citizen 
who  participated  more  or  less  in  the  events  which  he 
chronicled,  and  I  repeat  his  words. 

"The  discoverer  of  the  great  underground  supply  of 
oil  was  a  young  one-armed  fellow  named  Higgins  who 
worked  logging  on  the  river.  I'll  tell  you  how  he  hap- 


A  Texas  Bubble  63 

pened  to  have  only  one  arm.  Way  off  on  the  edge  of 
the  town,  where  it  was  just  wilderness  in  those  days, 
was  a  nigger  church;  and  one  night,  when  the  niggers 
was  havin'  a  meetin',  Higgins  and  a  few  other  lads 
went  out  there  to  have  some  fun.  They  commenced 
rocking  the  church — throwing  stones  up  on  the  roof— 
and  a  policeman  come  along  and  tried  to  arrest  'em. 
Higgins  drew  a  revolver.  The  policeman  did  the  same 
and  put  a  bullet  in  Higgins'  right  arm.  That  made  the 
lad  drop  his  revolver,  but  he  picked  it  up  in  his  left 
hand  and  shot  the  policeman  dead;  and  the  next  morn- 
ing he  was  before  the  court  and  exonerated.  His  arm 
was  taken  off,  and  after  he  got  well  he  went  back  to  the 
river.  He  couldn't  go  jumping  around  on  the  logs  the 
way  he  had  before,  and  the  sawmill  give  him  a  job  at 
the  boom,  where  it  was  his  business  to  push  the  logs 
with  a  spikepole  so  the  grip  would  catch  'em  and  draw 
'em  from  the  water  up  to  the  saws.  All  he  got  was  a 
dollar  and  a  half  a  day,  and  he  began  to  figure  on  how 
he  could  make  more  money. 

"About  four  miles  out  of  town,  at  a  place  we  call 
Spindletop,  was  kind  of  a  greasy  mudhole  where  gas 
bubbled  up,  and  Higgins  got  the  idea  that  oil  could  be 
found  there.  So  from  time  to  time  he'd  interest  some 
person  to  furnish  money  to  do  a  little  boring.  Pretty 
soon,  however,  his  financier  would  get  discouraged  and 
quit;  but  Higgins  was  a  fighting  dog,  and  he  never  did 
give  it  up  himself.  As  often  as  he  could  save  up  a  hun- 


64  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

dred  dollars  he'd  go  to  Spindletop  and  work  his  derrick. 
Nobody  paid  much  attention  to  him.  The  land  wasn't 
good  for  a  thing  in  the  world  so  far  as  crops  were  con- 
cerned. You  couldn't  even  raise  a  disturbance  on  it. 

"Finally  Higgins  got  hold  of  a  Pennsylvania  oil  man 
named  Lucas  who  knew  just  how  to  do  the  drilling,  only 
he  didn't  have  much  money  and  presently  went  broke. 
He  was  about  to  quit  discouraged,  but  his  wife  prevailed 
on  him  to  bore  one  day  more,  and  that  day,  about  noon, 
they  struck  a  gusher  which  blowed  their  apparatus  and 
everything  all  to  Guinea.  Lucas  didn't  lack  for  money 
after  that,  and  he  blossomed  out  in  tailor-made  clothes 
and  a  plug  hat.  The  Beaumont  people  had  been  cussin' 
and  abusin'  him  when  he  couldn't  pay  his  debts,  but 
now  he  was  a  great  man  to  them.  They'd  watch  him 
on  the  streets  and  point  him  out  to  strangers.  'I  see 
him,'  they'd  say.  'That  is  Captain  Lucas  just  going 
past.' 

"  Beaumont  was  at  that  time  the  dangdest  old  ram- 
shackle wooden  sawmill  town  you  ever  saw.  There 
wa'n't  much  here  but  mud  and  slabs;  but  in  a  little 
while  the  place  was  known  all  over  the  United  States. 
Talk  about  California  and  Colorado! — the  excitement 
over  the  gold  finds  there  wa'n't  in  it  with  what  we  ex- 
perienced here.  You  see  that  Lucas  well  was  an  un- 
usual one.  Seventy  thousand  barrels  of  oil  flowed  from 
it  every  twenty-four  hours.  People  went  crazy,  and  the 
land  for  miles  around  soared  up  in  price  out  of  sight. 


A  Texas  Bubble  65 

Not  only  those  interested  in  oil  flocked  in,  but  crooks 
and  thugs  and  light-fingered  gentry  from  all  over  the 
earth.  This  was  the  capital  of  toughdom,  and  if  you 
didn't  let  your  money  slip  to  the  sharpers  by  gambling, 
they'd  lay  in  wait  for  you  and  knock  you  in  the  head. 

"We  perhaps  had  ten  thousand  transients  in  the  place 
when  the  excitement  was  at  its  height,  and  rents  were 
something  terrible.  Tents  were  put  up  all  over  town, 
and  beds  set  in  'em  in  rows  like  in  a  hospital.  To  sleep 
in  one  of  those  beds  cost  a  dollar  a  night.  When  I  first 
reached  town  none  of  the  streets  were  paved,  and  the 
heavy  teams  constantly  going  and  coming  made  'em  a 
deep  rutted  bog.  Oh,  my  gracious  alive!  you  never  saw 
such  a  mess,  and  it  seemed  to  rain  mighty  near  ever' 
day,  too. 

"A  good  many  experienced  oil  men  at  first  thought 
the  Lucas  gusher  was  a  freak,  and  they  weren't  game 
enough  to  take  hold  of  the  property.  So  others  got 
ahead  of  them.  Some  of  the  investors  made  fortunes, 
but  about  ninety-nine  per  cent  lost  instead.  Many  a 
person  come  here  rich  and  left  with  nothing — had  to 
walk  to  get  away,  and  perhaps  went  barefooted  at  that. 
They'd  arrive  with  their  hands  full  of  money,  and  beg 
for  the  chance  to  buy  some  land,  and  often  they  was 
sold  land  that  never  existed.  I  know  there  was  a  tramp 
beating  his  way  West  on  a  freight  train,  and  when  he 
got  to  Beaumont  he  see  a  dickins  of  a  commotion  on  the 
street — people  running  up  and  down — and  he  says, 
'Here's  where  I'm  goin'  to  get  off.' 


66  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

"He  hadn't  heard  anything  about  the  discovery  of 
oil  at  Spindletop,  and  he  wanted  to  find  out  what  was 
the  matter.  After  working  a  few  days  till  he  understood 
things,  he  got  a  drygoods  box  to  stand  on  and  went  to 
selling  land  on  a  street  corner.  He  didn't  have  any  to 
sell,  and  yet  he  cleaned  up  two  hundred  thousand  dol- 
lars and  got  away  with  the  money. 

"  Some  of  the  speculators  were  honest  in  their  inten- 
tions, but  the  oil-producing  district  is  quite  limited,  and 
these  fellows  bought  anywhere  and  everywhere.  Then 
they'd  organize  a  company  and  begin  disposing  of 
stock.  Usually  though,  their  wells  wouldn't  strike  oil 
in  paying  quantities,  or  were  only  dusters — that  is,  they 
had  been  bored  down  into  dry  sand. 

"Those  speculators  who  were  dishonest  often  didn't 
invest  in  land  or  boring  at  all,  but  simply  started  a 
company  and  sold  stock  to  suckers.  They'd  perhaps 
pay  big  dividends  for  a  short  time  to  coax  forth  more 
money  from  their  victims,  and  then  pocket  the  cash. 

"But  if  there  was  lots  of  crookedness  and  disap- 
pointment, some  of  those  Spindletop  wells  were  wonders 
and  no  mistake;  and  the  oil  men  kept  boring  them  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  there  w.as  no  way  of  taking  care  of 
the  oil — no  tanks,  no  pipe  line,  no  refinery,  not  even  a 
road  to  town.  They  simply  turned  the  oil  loose  for  the 
edification  of  the  curious  public.  Why,  for  two  or  three 
years  the  ditches  here  in  town  were  running  with  that 
black  oil,  and  every  stream  in  the  region  flowed  with  a 


A  Texas  Bubble  67 

coating  an  inch  or  more  thick.  It  gave  off  quite  a  rank 
smell,  and  we  had  also  a  strong  odor  of  gas  escaping 
from  the  Spindletop  wells.  Besides  that,  the  gas  ate  off 
the  paint  from  the  houses,  and  they  looked  shabby  and 
neglected,  even  if  they  were  painted  two  or  three  times 
a  year.  But  we've  no  reason  to  complain  now.  The 
industry  has  been  thoroughly  organized  and  nothing  is 
wasted.  It  is  supposed  that  the  Standard  Oil  Company 
controls  the  bulk  of  the  business.  Their  policy  is  to  let 
others  do  the  wild-catting  and  then  step  in  and  reap  the 
harvest. 

"The  boom  certainly  did  wake  up  Beaumont;  and, 
sir,  you  have  no  idea  how  this  blame  place  is  growing. 
It's  the  best  town  in  old  Texas.  You'd  be  surprised 
how  much  wealth  we've  got  here.  Several  of  the  Beau- 
mont boys  got  to  live  on  Easy  Street  through  oil  invest- 
ments, and  Higgins  is  at  the  head  of  the  biggest  oil  com- 
pany in  the  state.  He  has  an  income  of  sixteen  hun- 
dred dollars  a  day.  Then  there's  all  those  who've  been 
made  rich  by  the  enormous  increase  in  the  value  of  land 
in  and  near  the  town.  But  it  ain't  just  oil  that's  built  up 
Beaumont.  Lumber  and  rice  are  responsible,  too;  and 
I  believe  there's  more  capital  invested  in  rice  than  in 
oil." 

When  I  journeyed  out  to  see  Spindletop  it  was  with 
the  expectation  of  finding  a  steep,  rounded  hill,  but  the 
name  originated  in  a  clump  of  tall  trees  that  grew  in  the 
vicinity  and  made  a  cone-shaped  mass  of  foliage  that 


68  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

was  a  landmark  for  the  old  settlers  on  the  adjacent 
prairie.  The  oil  district  is  on  slightly  rising  ground 
covering  a  circular  patch  scarcely  a  mile  across.  It  is  a 
leafless,  angular  forest  of  derricks — a  dismal,  blasted 
tract  wholly  devoid  of  beauty,  natural  or  artificial. 
You  hear  the  hissing  of  steam,  the  throbbing  of  engines, 
you  see  whirling  wheels  and  the  pumps  moving  with 
unceasing  regularity,  and  there  are  grimy  men  at  work 
singly  and  in  groups.  But  the  men  are  few  and  scat- 
tered for  such  a  jungle  of  derricks.  One  engine  does 
the  pumping  for  half  a  dozen  wells,  and  everything  has 
been  so  simplified  that  a  single  man's  guiding  hand 
accomplishes  what  would  seem  to  be  work  for  a  dozen. 
The  drill  consists  of  a  six-inch  pipe,  and  this  has  to 
go  down  about  a  thousand  feet  to  strike  the  oil  strata. 
The  best  well  in  the  tract  produces  five  hundred  barrels 
a  day,  but  the  average  is  less  than  fifty  barrels,  and 
pumping  continues  even  if  the  yield  is  only  seven  or 
eight.  A  near-by  pit,  a  few  yards  across,  serves  each 
group  of  wells  and  receives  the  oil  and  the  water  with 
which  it  is  mixed.  The  latter  sinks  to  the  bottom  and 
is  allowed  to  flow  away  into  a  ditch,  while  the  former 
runs  to  a  second  pit  and  is  then  pumped  into  a  stout 
tank.  Finally,  after  some  further  settling,  the  oil  is 
piped  to  the  rows  of  great  storage  tanks  a  mile  or  two 
away.  A  well  is  seldom  productive  over  two  years,  and 
new  borings  are  constantly  being  made.  The  wonder- 
ful gusher  which  first  brought  fame  to  the  region  went 


Neighbor  meets  neighbor 


A  Texas  Bubble  69 

dry  long  ago,  and  nothing  is  left  of  it  but  a  hole  on  the 
edge  of  a  marsh.  The  engines  are  either  protected  by 
rude  sheds  or  stand  in  the  open.  They  burn  oil  and 
have  open  fronts,  and  when  you  look  in  and  see  the 
fierce  flames  flashing  up  and  dying  down,  and  hear  the 
roaring  indraft  of  air,  they  seem  like  demoniacal  mon- 
sters endowed  with  life. 

Off  at  one  side  of  the  field  were  a  few  short  streets  of 
shanty  homes  where  the  help  dwelt,  and  which  did  not 
in  the  least  relieve  the  chaotic  and  uninviting  aspect  of 
the  oil-well  territory. 

The  work  of  the  employees  is  of  necessity  dirty  and 
disagreeable.  "I've  been  baptized  completely  many 
times,"  said  one  of  them.  "When  we  used  to  strike 
gushers,  up  the  oil  would  go  and  come  right  down  on 
you.  Worse  still  was  the  gas.  It  seems  to  occur  in 
little  pockets  and  will  burst  forth  all  of  a  sudden,  so 
that  if  you  don't  look  out  you're  a  gone  chicken.  It 
only  takes  one  or  two  whiffs  of  it  to  stop  your  clock,  and 
the  other  fellers  come  to  your  rescue  in  a  hurry.  They 
pick  you  up  by  the  nape  of  the  neck,  and  give  you  a  hit  in 
the  back  and  roll  you  around  and  throw  water  over 
you.  It's  surprisin'  how  quick  the  stuff  acts.  There 
was  an  old  negro  woman  out  here  lookin'  on  when  we 
struck  gas  once,  and  she  said,  'I  smell  somethin'  jus' 
like  b'iled  cabbage.'  Then  over  she  went.  It  was  in 
the  time  of  the  gushers  that  we  had  most  trouble  with 
gas.  Of  course  it  was  important  to  cap  a  well  as  soon 


70  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

as  possible  to  stop  the  oil  from  running  to  waste,  and 
I've  seen  owners  beggin'  men  to  work  and  offering  'em 
two  dollars  an  hour.  The  men  who  undertook  the  job 
would  have  a  rope  hitched  to  'em,  so  that  when  they'd 
run  in  where  the  oil  was  spouting  and  was  overcome 
by  gas  they  could  be  dragged  out.  Finally  they  got  to 
using  diving  suits." 

A  few  years  ago  Beaumont  had  for  a  short  time  the 
reputation  of  being  "miserable  sickly;"  but  this  was 
apparently  due  to  incidental  conditions  that  soon  passed 
away,  for  the  inhabitants  claim  the  town  has  one  of  the 
best  health  records  of  any  place  in  the  United  States. 
"Why,"  said  one  informant,  "we  had  to  kill  a  man  to 
start  a  graveyard.  Later,  when  the  boom  was  on,  a 
Northern  man  died  here.  There  was  talk  of  send- 
ing the  body  back  to  his  friends;  but  finally  it  was  de- 
cided to  bury  him  here,  and  on  the  way  to  the  graveyard 
he  come  to  life.  If  he'd  gone  North  he'd  have  stayed 
dead." 

The  town  is  on  a  slight  plateau  bordering  the  Naches 
River,  and  across  the  stream  are  wooded  swamplands 
with  a  thick  undergrowth  of  palmetto  scrub.  "That's 
a  fine  place  for  fishing  in  the  bayous  over  there,"  re- 
marked a  man  I  met  on  the  river  bank;  "but  there's 
millions  of  mosquitoes,  too,  and  at  times  we  have  the 
confounded  things  by  the  bushel  right  here  in  town. 
They'll  kill  young  chickens — just  prod  'em  to  death — 
and  I've  known  'em  to  kill  cattle  by  pestering  'em  so 


A  Texas  Bubble  71 

they'd  run  into  a  bog  and  lay  down  and  die.  Weather 
that's  quiet  and  hot  suits  'em  best;  but  a  wind  will  put 
'em  out  of  business,  and  you  won't  see  'em  nowhere. 
Whenever  they  harpoon  me  real  bad  I  have  the  malaria 
next  day,  sure. 

"I  used  to  be  an  engineer  on  the  railroad;  and  along 
the  coast  the  mosquitoes  in  the  grass  that  lopped  over 
on  the  rails  would  get  crushed  and  grease  the  track  so 
the  engine  wheels  would  slip.  Sometimes  that  brought 
the  train  to  a  standstill,  and  we'd  have  to  take  a  broom 
and  get  out  and  sweep  and  scrape  and  throw  on  sand. 
Then  we'd  start  up  and  run  as  hard  as  we  could  to  get 
beyond  the  grassy  spot. 

"I  see  by  the  paper  the  cyclones  are  hitting  the 
country  to  the  north  and  east  pretty  hard.  We  don't 
have  'em  here,  but  we  do  get  an  occasional  West  India 
hurricane.  I  was  in  the  one  we  had  in  June,  1884.  It 
made  a  tidal  wave  that  killed  everybody  at  Sabine  Pass 
and  wiped  Indianola  off  the  face  of  the  earth.  Indiano- 
la  had  been  quite  a  shipping  place,  but  nobody  lived 
there  afterward  except  an  old  negro  native  of  the  place, 
who  happened  to  be  away  at  the  time  of  the  disaster. 
When  it  was  over  he  went  back  to  where  his  master  had 
lived  and  built  him  a  shack  of  the  wreckage,  and  there 
he  stayed  till  he  died. 

"I  remember  the  day  of  the  storm  very  well.  It 
opened  blustering,  and  about  the  middle  of  the  fore- 
noon the  wind  blew  a  gale  for  forty-five  minutes.  I 


72  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

was  takin'  a  passenger  train  south  and  was  within  two 
miles  of  Sabine  Lake  when  I  saw  a  wave  of  water  five 
or  ten  feet  high  sweeping  along  over  the  level  prairie 
toward  us  and  carrying  wreckage  and  boats  and  every- 
thing with  it.  A  schooner — a  great  big  feller  over  a 
hundred  feet  long — was  taken  clear  across  the  track 
right  in  front  of  us,  and  the  water  come  up  on  the  deck 
of  the  engine,  by  jingoes!  But  the  crest  of  the  wave 
passed  on  and  we  were  glad  to  find  that  nobody  on  the 
train  was  hurt.  Our  tracks  were  under  water  for  several 
hours  and  we  da'sen't  go  ahead  or  back  with  the  train 
because  of  washouts.  Late  in  the  day  we  waded  to  dry 
land,  following  the  track  for  about  six  miles;  and  the 
weather  was  then  quiet  and  nice  as  could  be.  The 
train  stayed  there  two  months  before  the  track  could  be 
put  in  shape  to  move  it." 

My  companion  pointed  to  a  man  who  had  come  along 
the  path  where  we  stood  and  was  now  several  rods 
beyond  us.  "That  feller's  got  a  pistol  in  his  pocket," 
said  he.  "  I  done  had  my  eye  on  him  ever  since  he  went 
past,  and  when  the  wind  blows  his  coat  against  his  side 
you  can  see  the  pistol  is  there  all  right.  The  law  don't 
allow  carryin'  pistols,  but  a  Southern  man  believes 
that's  one  of  his  born  rights.  I  come  here  from  Mary- 
land, and  I've  looked  down  a  gun  more  than  once  when 
the  hole  seemed  to  be  six  feet  in  diameter;  but  I  can 
say  this  for  the  Texas  people — I've  never  knowed  any- 
body to  be  killed  down  here  but  what  pretty  near  de- 


A  Texas  Bubble  73 

served  his  fate.  Usually  the  man  killed  is  a  feller  who's 
butted  in  and  tried  to  bulldoze  somebody.  If  you  come 
here  a  stranger  and  behave  yourself  they'll  just  tear 
their  shirts  trying  to  do  any  favor  for  you  that  you  may 
ask.  They  very  seldom  kill  a  man  on  the  sly,  but  of 
course  they  go  out  and  shoot  each  other  to  settle  a  dis- 
pute. The  shooting  is  soon  over,  and  is  all  right — the 
burial  expense  ain't  much,  and  the  relatives  pay  that. 
The  county  don't  have  to  bear  it.  If  they  both  don't 
get  killed  there's  a  case  for  the  courts,  and  that  puts 
money  in  circulation  for  lawyers'  fees.  Among  the  old- 
time  Texans  one  shot  apiece  was  enough.  There  wa'n't 
any  such  thing  as  missing,  and  I  could  tell  you  of  dozens 
of  instances  of  duels  where  both  parties  was  killed. 

"Some  curious  things  happen  here  in  connection 
with  law  and  order.  I  recall  one  Texas  judge  in  a 
thinly  settled  district  who  kept  a  saloon  and  held  court 
in  the  same  room.  Once  a  dead  man  was  found  in  the 
vicinity  with  forty  dollars  and  a  revolver  in  his  pockets, 
and  the  judge  fined  him  the  forty  dollars  for  carrying 
the  gun." 

Within  a  range  of  about  thirty  miles  are  several  other 
oil  pockets  scarcely  less  notable  than  that  at  Spindletop, 
and  I  decided  to  visit  the  one  at  Sour  Lake.  On  the 
way  thither  I  had  a  chance  to  see  the  rice  country  sweep- 
ing away  in  apparently  limitless  levels  with  its  network 
of  canals  and  ditches.  As  the  train  went  farther  we 
entered  a  region  of  alternating  prairie  and  forest,  and 


74  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

in  the  opens  were  numerous  herds  of  cattle.  There  was 
no  fencing  along  the  tracks,  and  once  the  engine  gave  a 
series  of  sharp  toots,  the  brakes  were  applied,  and  the 
train  slowed  up  with  jarring  suddenness.  "We  most 
hit  a  yearling  that  time,"  said  a  man  who  had  put  his 
head  out  of  a  window. 

The  stock  take  care  of  themselves  the  year  through, 
and  ordinarily  fare  worst  during  the  dry  summer  months. 
In  the  winter,  if  the  weather  is  mild,  they  find  feed 
plentiful.  Snow  is  a  rarity,  and  yet  in  1895  the  region 
had  a  storm  that  buried  the  earth  in  white  a  foot  and 
a  half  deep,  and  many  of  the  herds  were  almost  wiped 
out.  The  golden  period  of  the  Texan  cattle  business 
was  somewhat  earlier.  Then,  in  vast  portions  of  the 
state,  there  was  nothing  but  great  grazing  ranches,  and 
the  grass  grew  as  high  as  a  man's  waist.  "When  a  cow 
lay  down  in  it,"  a  former  cowboy  explained  to  me,  "  she 
was  entirely  lost  to  sight  except  the  tip  of  her  horns. 
But  that  grass  has  all  been  killed  out  by  the  excessive 
browsing  and  trampling.  The  cattle  men  lived  in  little 
log  cabins  or  cheap  box  houses  that  the  wind  would 
blow  right  through.  You  never  saw  a  door  locked,  and 
when  you  was  on  a  journey  and  stopped  for  a  drink  of 
water  at  a  house  where  no  one  was  at  home,  you  went 
right  in  and  helped  yourself,  and  if  you  shut  the  door 
as  you  went  out  the  owner  was  perfectly  satisfied.  You 
could  take  anything  you  needed  and  welcome,  except 
a  horse.  Steal  one  of  the  rancher's  horses  and  he'd 


• 
• 

•• ,    •    : 


A  hog  family 


A  Texas  Bubble  75 

hang  you  if  he  could  get  hold  of  you.  It  didn't  matter 
so  much  if  you  stole  a  yearling.  You  see  all  the  balance 
of  'em  did  that." 

Sour  Lake  was  originally  a  health  resort  of  the  In- 
dians. The  lake  was  simply  a  small  pond,  the  water  of 
which  was  impregnated  with  sulphur  and  other  minerals, 
and  in  the  near-by  woods  were  various  peculiar  springs 
that  came  to  be  recognized  among  the  savages  as  bene- 
ficial for  certain  diseases.  Indeed,  some  of  the  local 
dwellers  claim  that,  "all  the  Indians  in  Texas"  used  to 
go  there  in  April  every  year  and  camp  in  the  neighbor- 
hood for  several  weeks,  drinking  the  water  and  wallow- 
ing in  the  greasy  bogholes.  Among  those  who  resorted 
to  the  springs,  there  came,  about  1825,  a  boy  who  was 
half  Indian  and  half  negro,  and  as  he  grew  older  he 
adopted  the  spot  as  his  home  and  became  known  as 
Dr.  Mudd.  He  used  to  relate  an  Indian  legend  to  the 
following  purport: 

This  part  of  Texas  was  formerly  very  dry  and  en- 
tirely devoid  of  streams  or  other  bodies  of  water.  At 
length  the  Indians  prayed  to  the  Great  Spirit  to  change 
the  country  and  supply  it  with  brooks  and  rivers.  So 
the  Great  Spirit  told  them  to  move  up  into  middle  Texas 
for  a  few  weeks.  This  they  did,  and  while  they  were 
there  the  ground  in  the  region  from  which  they  had 
come  shook  and  split  open,  and  streams  formed.  The 
center  of  the  disturbance  was  at  Sour  Lake  where  oc- 


76^Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

curred  "a  tremendous  terrible  blowout,"  and  when 
they  returned,  after  the  earth  had  quieted  down,  they 
found  the  medicinal  pond  and  springs. 

Dr.  Mudd  acquired  something  of  a  reputation  for 
his  knowledge  of  the  healing  properties  of  the  different 
springs  and  bogs,  and  more  and  more  people  came  to  be 
cured  of  rheumatism  and  skin  and  blood  diseases. 
Persons  afflicted  with  these  ailments  were  often  greatly 
helped,  but  the  place  "would  sure  knock  you  out,"  if 
you  had  a  tendency  to  lung  trouble.  Presently  someone 
erected  a  large,  pillared  hotel  near  the  springs,  and  it 
became  the  annual  habit  with  many  planters  to  bring 
their  families  from  the  low,  malarial  rivers  to  Sour  Lake 
and  stay  through  the  summer.  Not  all  of  them  lived  in 
the  hotel.  Some  preferred  to  put  up  a  house  of  their 
own  or  to  camp  in  a  tent.  They  were  accustomed  also 
to  bring  their  sick  negroes  to  spend  a  few  weeks. 

The  negro  doctor  had  driven  a  pipe  down  into  the 
soil  about  twenty  feet,  and  it  slowly  dripped  a  sulphur 
oil  that  he  put  up  in  vials  and  sold  for  a  liniment.  He 
called  it  "Sour  Lake  Tar."  The  doctor  was  a  very 
religious  old  darkey  who  revered  God  and  was  afraid 
of  the  devil;  and  when  the  first  gusher  came  in  he  said 
that  the  oil  men  were  destroying  God's  health  resort. 
God  would  punish  them,  he  declared,  the  same  as  He 
did  those  who  started  to  build  the  tower  to  heaven,  and 
in  order  to  escape  the  wrath  to  come  Dr.  Mudd  departed. 


A  Texas  Bubble 


77 


The  first  actual  drilling  in  the  region  was  done  in 
1896  by  some  West  Virginia  men.  After  going  down 
two  hundred  and  fifty  feet  they  got  a  flow  of  thick  oil 
which  they  concluded  would  be  very  good  for  lubricat- 
ing purposes.  They  shipped  some  to  the  sawmills 
around,  but  when  the  machines  to  which  it  was  applied 
became  warm  the  odor  of  the  oil  was  extremely  offen- 
sive, and  the  mill  workmen  would  not  use  it.  This  dis- 
couraged the  prospectors,  and  Sour  Lake  continued  to 
be  a  quiet  health  resort  until  after  the  "boom  was  on 
big"  over  at  Beaumont.  Then  several  drillers  came 
here,  and  pretty  soon  the  oil  was  running  out  all  over 
everything  in  tens  of  thousands  of  barrels  a  day.  There 
was  no  settlement  worth  mentioning — just  a  hotel  and 
a  little  church,  a  schoolhouse  and  a  few  scattered  dwell- 
ings. Close  to  where  the  oil  was  struck  lived  an  elderly 
Irishman  named  Pat  Cannon.  He  was  a  peddler  who 
drove  a  wagon  around  the  country  selling  needles  and 
thread  and  a  few  drygoods.  Mostly  he  had  to  take 
chickens  and  eggs  in  exchange.  Before  oil  was  found 
the  land  in  the  vicinity  was  worth  about  twenty-five 
cents  an  acre,  but  now  the  price  jumped.  Cannon  had 
an  old  tumble-down  place  with  the  weeds  and  brush 
growing  all  around.  He  entirely  lacked  knowledge  of 
large  business  transactions,  and  very  likely  the  oil  men 
would  have  swindled  him  out  of  his  property;  but  a 
relative  who  was  more  used  to  affairs  said  to  him:  "See 
here,  you  just  get  out  of  the  way  and  let  me  handle  this 
for  you." 


78  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

So  after  some  bargaining  Cannon  sold  part  of  his 
land  for  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  and  leased  more 
for  an  eighth  of  the  oil  that  was  produced.  On  the  day 
of  the  sale  he  had  just  thirty-six  cents  in  his  house. 

As  soon  as  oil  was  struck,  crowds  of  adventurers  and 
speculators,  workers  and  sightseers  began  to  flock  in, 
and,  as  one  informant  declared:  "People  just  had  to 
stand  out  all  night.  I  golly!  they  couldn't  get  no  place 
to  sleep.  Drinking  water  had  to  be  brought  from  a 
distance  and  was  worth  more  than  the  oil.  Water  sold 
for  fifty  cents  a  barrel  and  oil  for  ten.  Pretty  near  all 
the  people  have  done  gone  and  left  us  now  so  there's 
only  about  two  thousand  inhabitants." 

It  was  thought  at  the  time  of  the  boom  that  Sour  Lake 
was  going  to  be  a  big  city,  and  all  the  surrounding  re- 
gion was  laid  off  in  streets.  The  present  town  is  for  the 
most  part  a  scattered,  dingy  settlement  of  unpainted 
wooden  shanties,  and  big  forlorn  structures  that  were 
formerly  boarding-houses.  Along  either  side  of  the 
dusty,  littered  chief  street  are  shabby  stores  and  saloons, 
usually  one  story  high  with  a  covered  veranda  in  front. 
The  floors  of  the  verandas  varied  so  much  in  elevation 
and  were  so  broken  it  seemed  rather  adventurous  walk- 
ing on  them.  In  the  ditches  at  the  edge  of  this  crazy 
sidewalk  were  oily  pools  and  mudholes.  Dogs  abounded, 
and  so  did  razor-backed  hogs  and  grazing  horses  and 
cattle,  and  they  all  went  just  where  they  pleased.  If 
anyone  objected  to  the  liberties  they  took  he  fenced  his 


On  the  hotel  piazza 


A  Texas  Bubble  79 

premises  against  them.  Those  freaks  of  hogs  some- 
times sauntered  along  on  the  veranda  walks  and  would 
even  take  a  look  in  at  the  saloons  as  if  they  recognized 
some  of  their  kin  in  the  loafers  there. 

I  stayed  at  a  hotel  in  a  grove  of  noble  live  oaks  and 
sweetgums  that  were  festooned  with  long  tresses  of  gray 
moss.  The  hotel  quite  charmed  me  at  first  with  its 
stout  whitewashed  fence  inclosing  the  yard,  and  its 
broad  upper  and  lower  galleries  on  two  sides  of  the 
house.  It  was  typically  Southern  in  its  architecture 
and  had  an  attractive  air  of  repose  and  shadowed  cool- 
ness; but  it  was  a  hastily-built  structure  set  on  wooden 
blocks  and  was  flimsy  and  dilapidated.  About  dusk 
the  cattle  came  drifting  in  from  the  prairie;  and  the 
grove  outside  of  the  hotel  yard  was  their  favorite  stop- 
ping place  for  the  night  in  company  with  the  razor- 
backs  and  wandering  ponies.  There  was  a  good  deal 
of  lowing  and  grunting  and  whinnying  and  stamping 
around  before  the  creatures  settled  down.  Moreover, 
the  town  dogs  had  a  habit  of  giving  an  evening  concert, 
and  soon  after  midnight  the  roosters  would  begin  to 
crow  their  lusty  challenges  and  kept  up  an  intermittent 
chorus  until  daybreak.  But  the  most  insistent  sound 
was  the  rumble  of  the  pumps  and  drills  off  on  the 
oil-field — a  noise  resembling  the  distant  roar  of  a  giant 
waterfall. 

The  bulk  of  the  oil-field  belongs  to  a  single  big  com- 
pany which  bought  the  old  health  resort.  Its  wells  are 


8o  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

scattered  through  the  woodland  at  quite  a  distance 
from  each  other  so  that  one  well  does  not  take  oil  from 
territory  another  might  drain.  Just  outside  of  this 
property,  clinging  along  its  edges,  are  the  independent 
operators  with  derricks  set  almost  as  thick  as  they  can 
stand. 

Most  of  the  early  comers  who  found  oil  made  money, 
but  unless  they  later  got  into  a  large  well-organized 
company,  or  left  the  field  satisfied  with  a  moderate  for- 
tune they  lost  what  they  had  previously  gained.  "When 
you  are  once  in  this  business,"  one  pioneer  oil  man  said 
to  me,  "it's  a  blame  hard  thing  to  quit,  you  betcher! 
As  soon  as  oil  was  discovered  here  I  come,  and  I  come 
a-whoopin'.  I  bought  oil  land  for  ninteen  hundred 
dollars  that  I  sold  for  seventy-five  thousand.  Yes  sir,  but 
I  haven't  got  that  money  now.  I  tell  you,  there's  four 
dollars  dropped  to  one  that's  picked  up  in  this  business. 
We've  got  plenty  of  good  oil  land  here  not  yet  included 
in  what's  being  worked,  and  there's  men  who  put  in  all 
their  time  wandering  around  trying  to  locate  it — oil 
smellers,  we  call  'em.  Every  one  of  'em  has  his  own 
methods  and  looks  for  the  signs  that  he  thinks  are 
sure.  But  the  wildcat  wells  are  seldom  successful.  The 
lack  of  results  from  them  is  very  apt  to  be  charged  to 
the  Standard  Oil  Company  or  some  of  the  concerns 
related  to  it.  The  prospectors  think  their  drillers  are 
bribed  by  the  big  companies  to  go  right  through  the  oil 
strata,  and  it  is  a  fact  that  a  whole  lot  of  drillers  are  no 


A  Texas  Bubble  81 

better  than  United  States  senators.  They  walk  around 
with  one  hand  behind  them  and  take  money  on  the 
side.  But  of  course  you  can't  always  sometimes  tell. 
I've  seen  a  well  yielding  seven  thousand  barrels  a  day, 
and  right  adjoining  it  another  was  drilled  which  didn't 
seem  as  if  it  could  miss  being  a  big  producer,  and  yet 
the  second  well  got  nothing  but  salt  water." 

Sour  Lake  itself  has  been  preserved  and  is  a  grassy 
scum-covered  pond  with  park-like  surroundings,  and 
with  the  old  medicinal  springs  still  in  existence  along 
its  borders.  People  continue  to  drink  the  waters,  though 
they  do  not  come  thither  in  such  numbers  as  formerly. 

As  to  the  future  of  the  Beaumont  oil-field  there  is 
some  uncertainty.  I  met  persons  who  believed  that  it 
would  rapidly  be  exhausted,  and  others  who  thought  it 
would  continue  productive  for  an  indefinite  period; 
but  the  time  when  the  industry  here  was  a  bubble, 
irridescent  with  the  promise  of  untold  riches  to  the  in- 
vestor, is  gone,  and  fortunes  no  longer  are  recklessly 
wasted  in  trying  to  realize  those  unsubstantial  dreams 
of  wealth. 

NOTE. — The  pleasure  of  an  acquaintance  with  the  Beaumont  dis- 
trict down  in  the  southeast  comer  of  Texas  depends  largely  on  the 
remembrance  of  its  romantic  past.  The  oil  industry  as  conducted 
there  now  is  quite  prosaic  and  business-like,  though  its  out-door 
character  and  the  picturesqueness  of  the  great  derricks  cannot  help 
but  lend  some  attraction.  But  to  wander  about  and  recall  the  turmoil 
and  excitement  of  the  days  when  the  gushing  of  the  first  wells  was  the 
talk  of  the  world,  and  to  hear  the  stories  of  the  pioneers  of  those  days 


8i  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

is  an  experience  to  be  heartily  enjoyed.  Sour  Lake,  which  shared 
honors  with  Beaumont  itself  in  the  early  flooding  of  the  region  with 
oil,  has  a  quaint  woodland  setting,  and  should  not  be  missed  by  anyone 
who  visits  the  vicinity.  A  short  trip  to  the  south  is  Sabine  Lake  and 
the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  and  nearly  every  traveller  would  be  interested  to 
visit  Galveston  which  is  only  a  few  hours  distant  by  railroad.  Still 
farther  down  the  coast  is  Corpus  Christi  a  famous  pleasure  resort  for 
tourists,  fishermen  and  health-seekers.  It  is  on  a  beautiful  bay,  has  a 
delightful  climate,  and  claims  to  be  unequalled  the  world  over  for  sea- 
bathing, fishing,  and  boating. 


ON  THE  BANKS  OF  THE  RIO  GRANDE 

THE  river  which  is  the  boundary  line  for  more  than 
a  thousand  miles  between  the  United  States  and 
Mexico  has  a  name  unusually  impressive  and 
charming  to  the  imagination;  and  one  naturally  infers 
that  the  stream  is  big  and  beautiful,  flowing  amid  superb 
scenery.  I  suppose  we  should  not  expect  the  character 
of  the  actual  river  to  come  up  to  this  ideal;  but  I  was 
to  see  it  first  at  Eagle  Pass — and  the  name  of  the  Pass 
like  the  name  of  the  river  fostered  the  feeling  that  there, 
at  least,  the  setting  of  the  stream  would  be  notably 
romantic.  What  I  really  found  was  a  wide  channel, 
with  bordering  clay  bluffs  that  in  places  rose  to  an  im- 
posing height.  The  water  did  not  at  that  season  fill  the 
channel,  which,  on  one  side  or  the  other,  was  often  in 
part  occupied  by  broad,  brushy  levels,  and  shelving 
stone-strewn  beaches.  The  stream  was  brown  with 
mud,  and  ran  seaward  in  swift  shallows.  Yet  the  vol- 
ume of  water  was  considerable,  and  when  the  river  is  in 
flood  it  is  a  tremendous  torrent.  Nevertheless,  except 
for  a  few  miles  at  the  mouth,  the  stream  is  not  put  to 
any  use  as  a  waterway.  At  Eagle  Pass  I  did  not  even 
see  a  rowboat  on  it,  though  twenty  thousand  people 
live  on  its  banks  in  the  immediate  vicinity. 


84  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

The  town  on  the  American  side  is  a  rather  straggling 
trading  center,  with  a  number  of  large  stores,  banks  and 
hotels  scattered  along  its  chief  street.  Most  of  the  other 
structures  consist  of  a  medley  of  little  Mexican  shops 
and  dwellings  that  vary  from  substantial  comfort  to 
the  most  meager  discomfort.  The  houses  were  often 
quite  attractive,  even  when  very  humble.  They  usu- 
ally had  walls  of  stone  or  adobe,  smoothly  cemented 
and  whitewashed,  andjvines  and  blossoming  shrubbery 
grew  about  them.  Many  of  the  older  houses  were 
roofed  with  thatch  and  resembled  the  peasant  cottages 
of  Europe.  Grass  suitable  for  thatch  is,  however,  be- 
coming scarce.  It  used  to  grow  abundantly  in  the  bogs 
and  along  the  streams,  but  it  has  been  killed  by  the 
browsing  of  the  cattle  and  by  repeated  cutting.  A  new 
roof  on  the  better  houses  is  now  apt  to  be  of  shingles, 
and,  on  the  poorer  houses,  of  boards.  Indeed,  the  huts 
of  the  humbler  inhabitants  recently  built  are  as  a  rule 
wholly  of  boards,  and  are  thoroughly  ugly. 

Another  type  of  housewalls  is  made  by  setting  up 
studding  to  which  slender  limbs  of  mesquite  are  nailed 
like  lath.  The  space  between  is  filled  with  flat  stones 
and  the  lath  are  plastered  over  with  clay.  If  the  clay 
later  begins  to  drop  off  it  is  an  easy  matter  to  dab  on 
some  more.  But  the  Mexicans  are  not  very  thrifty  in 
making  seasonable  repairs,  and  they  often  wait  till 
some  of  the  cross-sticks  loosen  and  let  all  the  stones 
come  sliding  out.  Then,  perhaps,  instead  of  restoring 


Filling  a  cask 


On  the  Banks  of  the  Rio  Grande  85 

the  wall,  they  put  up  a  makeshift  barrier  of  rushes  or 
canes  or  old  tin,  and  that  may  serve  for  months  and 
possibly  years. 

Many  of  the  oldest  buildings  had  the  appearance, 
as  seen  from  the  outside,  of  being  roofless,  but  in  reality 
the  roofs  were  of  cement,  nearly  flat,  and  the  drainage 
was  shot  out  over  the  sidewalk  by  a  series  of  wooden 
spouts  projecting  through  the  front  wall.  Glass  win- 
dows are  a  luxury,  and  the  poorer  families  get  along 
with  little  unglazed  openings  that  can  be  closed  with  a 
board  shutter.  Often  the  upper  panels  of  the  doors  are 
made  to  open  for  ventilation.  The  windows  have  grat- 
ings of  iron,  primarily  designed  to  exclude  intruders, 
but  which  formerly  served  also  to  keep  the  young  men 
and  young  women  apart.  Intimate  association  between 
the  sexes,  after  the  children  reached  their  teens,  was 
thought  undesirable.  So  the  girls  were  obliged  to  spend 
most  of  their  time  indoors,  and  went  out  only  when 
properly  escorted.  The  boys,  however,  could  roam  the 
streets  freely,  and  if  a  lad  had  a  fancy  for  a  particular 
girl  he  watched  for  an  opportunity  to  talk  with  her 
through  the  barred  window. 

At  Eagle  Pass,  as  in  all  other  villages  along  the  Rio 
Grande,  the  whites  constitute  most  of  the  mercantile 
class,  but  the  bulk  of  the  people  are  Mexicans.  It  is 
the  Mexican  language  one  hears  most  frequently  on 
the  streets  and  in  the  stores,  and  the  majority  of  those 
who  speak  it  are  unable  to  use  English  at  all.  As  a 


86  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

class  they  are  poor  and  illiterate  and  lack  the  faculty  of 
saving  and  rising  to  a  higher  plane  of  wealth  and  living 
than  the  one  to  which  they  are  born.  This  is  especially 
true  on  the  south  side  of  the  river,  where  a  system  of 
peonage  keeps  the  laborer  always  indebted  to  his  em- 
ployer; and  the  law  does  not  allow  him  to  move  away 
while  his  debt  is  uncancelled.  He  is  forever  climbing 
a  hill  and  never  getting  to  the  top,  and  his  children  take 
up  the  burden  after  him.  Perhaps  in  desperation  he 
runs  away  and  escapes  across  the  border.  Then  he 
gets  work,  and  all  the  money  he  can  spare  from  his 
wages  is  sent  back  to  Mexico  until  he  has  paid  off  his 
debt;  for  he  could  not  safely  return  while  any  of  it  was 
unsettled.  His  energies  are  next  bent  to  saving  enough 
to  pay  the  debts  of  his  relatives  and  bring  them  across 
the  river.  If  they  attempted  to  get  away  by  stealth  and 
were  caught  they  would  be  thrown  into  prison. 

The  Mexicans  are  used  to  heavy,  prolonged  work, 
and  are  sinewy  and  active.  But  they  have  little 
initiative,  need  oversight,  are  slow  to  adapt  themselves 
to  circumstances,  and  lack  a  vigorous  courage.  Em- 
ployers very  much  prefer  those  newly  across  the  line. 
A  recent  arrival,  when  he  speaks  to  you,  pulls  off  his 
hat  and  holds  it  under  his  arm,  and  his  humility  and 
readiness  to  do  faithfully  whatever  task  is  allotted  to 
him  are  points  in  his  favor.  After  he  learns  English  he 
is  often  turned  away,  because,  "He  knows  too  much, 


On  the  Banks  of  the  Rio  Grande  87 

begins  to  think  he  is  the  boss  instead  of  you,  will  not 
work  so  hard  as  formerly,  and,  in  general,  is  less 
reliable." 

It  is  not  the  habit  for  the  women  to  work  in  the  fields. 
Ordinarily  they  stay  about  their  homes,  cook  the  food, 
look  after  the  chickens  and  take  care  of  the  garden  if 
they  have  one.  Among  the  lowest  class  it  sometimes 
happens  that  a  wife  supports  her  husband  in  idleness 
by  taking  in  washing. 

The  poorer  families  at  Eagle  Pass  do  not  have  con- 
nection with  the  city  water  system,  but  buy  what  they 
need  at  ten  cents  a  barrel  of  peddlers  who  drive  through 
the  streets  with  a  great  cask  mounted  on  two  wheels 
that  is  drawn  by  a  donkey.  Some  peddlers  go  to  the 
river  for  the  water,  and  others  purchase  it  at  a  small 
price  from  the  city. 

In  my  rambles  about  the  region  I  usually  had  the 
company  of  a  very  intelligent  Mexican  who  could  speak 
both  his  native  and  the  English  language;  and  he  took 
me  into  quite  a  number  of  houses  that  I  might  under- 
stand more  clearly  how  the  people  lived.  The  dwellings 
were  rarely  as  spacious  as  the  size  of  the  families  seemed 
to  demand,  and  it  was  necessary  to  have  a  bed  in  the 
living-room.  The  better  homes  were  neat  and  orderly, 
and  the  walls  were  adorned  with  enlarged  portraits  and 
gaudy-colored  religious  scenes.  In  the  poorer  houses 
there  was  only  one  room,  with  a  shed-like  kitchen 
attached.  The  floor  was  the  hard-trodden  earth,  and 


88  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

the  space  above  was  open  to  the  roof.  Such  interiors 
were  gloomy  and  cavernous  and  smoke-blackened. 
Usually  there  was  a  wide-mouthed  fireplace,  but  if  the 
chimney  happened  to  be  out  of  order  a  few  stones  were 
set  up  on  the  floor.  On  these  stones  a  pot  could  be 
set  with  a  fire  underneath,  and  the  smoke  curled  up 
toward  the  rafters  and  escaped  through  some  window, 
or  through  crevices  in  the  walls  and  roof.  Often  a  home 
contains  only  one  bed,  and  most  of  the  family  sleep  on 
the  floor.  Occasionally  a  family  had  a  pig,  which  was 
tied  near  the  back  door.  If  the  pig  was  small,  the 
cord  was  passed  in  a  criss-cross  fashion  over  its 
shoulders  and  back.  If  large,  the  creature  was  tied  by 
a  hind  leg. 

Several  dogs  were  sure  to  be  members  of  the  house- 
hold, and  at  one  dilapidated  hut  where  I  called  there 
were  eight.  A  local  American  assured  me  that  a  Mex- 
ican felt  bound  to  keep  more  dogs  than  he  had  children, 
and  to  feed  them  more,  also.  The  hairless  variety 
seemed  to  be  especially  numerous,  and  Antonio,  my 
guide,  accounted  for  this  by  saying:  "People  have  a 
belief  that  sleeping  with  those  kind  of  dogs  will  cure  the 
rheumatism.  But  that's  the  only  good  thing  there  is 
about  them.  You  can't  touch  one  without  its  biting  at 
you,  or  running  away  like  a  wild  cow.  These  people 
like  dogs,  and  are  always  ready  to  accept  the  present  of 
a  puppy,  no  matter  what  kind  it  is.  The  dogs  sleep 
most  of  the  day,  and  at  night  spend  their  time  outdoors 


On  the  Banks  of  the  Rio  Grande  89 

barking  at  each  other  and  the  river.  If  an  officer  is  or- 
dered to  go  and  shoot  a  dog  that  is  sick  or  has  bitten 
someone,  the  owners  make  him  all  the  trouble  they  can. 
You'd  think  they  were  protecting  one  of  their  children. 

"I  do  not  care  for  dogs  myself.  It  is  the  American 
fashion  in  the  cities  for  a  young  lady  to  carry  a  dog  in 
her  arms.  But  no  matter  how  sweet  would  be  the  girl, 
if  she  did  that,  I  would  have  no  use  for  her." 

One  of  the  staple  articles  of  food  in  the  Mexican 
homes  is  the  tortilla.  This  is  a  kind  of  corncake  that 
every  family  has  at  noon,  and  that  many  indulge  in 
three  times  a  day.  To  make  tortillas  the  corn  is  first 
boiled  with  a  little  lime  to  remove  the  hull.  Then  it  is 
thoroughly  washed  and  put  on  a  slightly  hollowed  slab 
of  stone  a  foot  wide  and  two  feet  long.  On  this  the  corn 
is  crushed  with  a  stone  pestle  held  flat  and  rubbed  back 
and  forth.  Presently  water  is  added  and  the  rubbing 
continues  till  the  meal  becomes  dough.  Then,  a  small 
piece  at  a  time,  it  is  spatted  between  the  palms  into  thin 
cakes  the  size  of  a  large  saucer.  These  are  baked 
quickly  over  the  fire  on  a  simple  piece  of  sheet  iron,  and 
are  eaten  with  an  accompaniment  of  beans  and  meat 
and  vegetables.  The  family  perhaps  has  no  table,  and 
a  box  serves  instead;  and  some  sit  on  other  boxes  and 
some  on  the  floor.  Knives  and  forks  are  useless  lux- 
uries. The  eater  takes  in  each  hand  a  tortilla  doubled 
to  form  a  scoop  and  by  bringing  them  together  in  the 
stew,  or  whatever  it  is  he  has  before  him,  captures  a 


90  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

portion  which  he  conveys  to  his  mouth  with  one  of  the 
tortillas.  At  the  same  time  he  bites  off  the  end  of  the 
improvised  spoon.  Thus  he  keeps  dipping  and  biting 
till  at  length  he  pitches  what  is  left  of  the  tortillas  to  the 
dogs  who  have  gathered  close  around  with  ears  erect 
waiting  for  their  share.  Then  perhaps  the  dinner  will 
be  enlivened  by  a  dispute  between  two  of  the  dogs  or 
between  a  dog  and  a  cat.  Sometimes  the  tortillas  are 
eaten  with  a  little  lard  and  salt.  Butter  is  never  seen  in 
the  ordinary  Mexican  home.  Coffee  is  the  principal 
drink,  but  the  poor  substitute  a  tea  made  from  pepper- 
mint, which  they  pick  and  dry  themselves. 

A  field  laborer  gets  up  at  daybreak,  drinks  some 
coffee,  and  goes  off  to  work.  About  eight  o'clock  his 
wife  or  one  of  the  children  carries  his  breakfast  to  him. 
If  the  weather  is  warm  he  stops  at  eleven  and  goes 
home,  and  after  the  noon  meal  the  whole  family  lie 
down  for  a  siesta.  The  man  probably  reclines  outside 
in  the  shade  on  a  bench  or  the  ground,  or  possibly  in  a 
hammock  made  of  sacks.  The  woman's  place  is  on 
the  floor,  just  inside  of  the  door  where  she  gets  the  bene- 
fit of  any  breeze  that  blows.  About  three  or  four  o'clock 
the  siesta  is  over,  and  the  man  drinks  a  cup  of  coffee 
and  resumes  work.  He  continues  at  his  task  until  dark. 
After  he  comes  home  he  talks  with  his  wife  a  while,  has 
supper,  and  in  the  course  of  an  hour  or  two  goes  to  bed. 
The  children  have  retired  earlier,  though  they  are  often 
allowed  to  run  the  streets  until  quite  late. 


On  the  Banks  of  the  Rio  Grande  gt 

"But  that  is  not  good  for  them,"  said  Antonio,  "and 
I  have  my  boy  come  in  early  when  I  am  at  home.  If  I 
am  away  he  stays  out,  because  my  wife  cannot  make 
him  come  in  with  all  her  yells.  He  is  the  only  child  I 
have  now.  Just  a  few  weeks  ago  it  was  I  lost  my  little 
girl,  three  and  a  half  years  old.  I  think  I  liked  her 
better  than  my  boy — and  I  like  him  all  right.  She  had 
learned  to  pray  already;  and  every  time  I  came  home 
she'd  run  and  hug  and  kiss  me.  Yes,  I  think  baby  girls 
are  the  real  happiness  of  a  family." 

Antonio  rolled  a  cigaret  and  puffed  at  it  in  melan- 
choly reverie.  I  called  his  attention  to  an  old  woman 
not  far  away  at  the  door  of  a  hut.  She  also  was  puffing 
a  cigaret.  He  said  this  was  by  no  means  an  uncommon 
feminine  habit,  and  that  the  men  had  to  have  their 
cigarets  as  a  matter  of  course.  "  I  began  to  smoke," 
said  he,  "at  the  age  of  four.  My  mother  was  dead,  and 
my  daddy  let  me  have  anything  I  wanted  to  keep  me 
quiet.  But  most  boys  don't  begin  till  they  are  eight  or 
ten." 

Along  the  Rio  Grande  fifty  cents  a  day  is  the  usual 
wage  of  a  Mexican  laborer;  yet  by  going  a  hundred 
miles  or  so  to  the  north  he  can  get  a  job  herding  sheep 
among  the  mountains  at  thirty  dollars  a  month  and  his 
keep.  He  stays  six  months  or  more,  and  then,  with 
about  two  hundred  dollars,  starts  for  home.  It  may  be 
that  at  the  first  town  he  strikes  he  tries  his  hand  at 


92  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

gambling,  and  gets  drunk.  In  such  a  case,  the  chances 
are  that  he  is  robbed  and  has  to  turn  back  to  his  lonely 
employment  in  the  rugged  uplands. 

If,  however,  he  escapes  the  allurements  of  the  towns 
and  reaches  the  home  hut,  he  turns  his  money  over  to 
one  of  the  women  of  the  household — preferably  the 
eldest.  There  may  be  a  man  in  the  family  as  old  as  the 
oldest  woman;  but  the  sheep  herder  would  not  think 
of  making  him  the  guardian  of  the  treasure,  for  the  old 
man  might  be  tempted  to  spend  it.  With  the  old  woman 
it  is  perfectly  safe.  She  is  from  habit  very  close  and 
economical,  and  she  doles  the  money  out  a  little  at  a 
time.  Her  bed  is  the  hiding-place  for  the  money,  and 
one  would  think  thieves  might  steal  it.  But  some  of  the 
family  are  always  about  the  house  during  the  daytime; 
and  at  night  not  only  are  they  all  there,  but  the  dogs 
and  other  domestic  creatures  besides,  so  that  the 
disturbance  created  by  an  intruder  would  scare  him  out 
of  his  wits. 

When  the  last  of  the  money  has  been  spent  the  man 
departs  to  the  wilderness  for  another  long  period  to 
accumulate  the  wherewithal  to  again  return  to  home 
idleness.  The  living  expenses  of  a  family  are  not  very 
great.  Such  foods  as  they  use  are  cheap,  and  they  get 
along  with  an  extremely  scanty  supply  of  clothing. 
Laborers  wear  sandals,  and  the  children  go  barefoot 
much  of  the  time.  There  are  only  a  few  really  sharp 
days,  even  in  winter,  and  some  of  the  poorer  boys  get 
along  without  any  shoes  at  all. 


Housewives  at  their  u'ashtno 


On  the  Banks  of  the  Rio  Grande  93 

The  biggest  structure  in  the  town  on  the  Mexican 
side  of  the  river  is  a  bull-ring,  where  every  few  weeks  a 
crowd  gathers  to  witness  a  bull-fight.  Sunday  mornings 
are  comparatively  sacred,  and  most  of  the  women  and 
children  attend  mass.  Quite  a  number  of  the  young 
men  are  also  at  church,  perhaps  attracted  by  the  pres- 
ence of  the  young  women;  but  the  older  men  who  go 
are  few.  Instead,  you  find  many  of  them  watching  a 
cock-fight  which  is  a  regular  Sunday  morning  feature 
in  the  Mexican  town,  and  much  of  their  hard-earned 
money  changes  hands  in  the  betting.  If  there  is  a  bull- 
fight later  in  the  day  they  resort  thither,  where  they  are 
joined  by  a  numerous  concourse  of  those  who  have  been 
to  church.  Antonio  regarded  bull-fighting  as  a  superla- 
tive sport.  He  said  it  was  very  seldom  a  man  was  seri- 
ously injured,  and  those  darts  that  were  stuck  into  the 
creatures  did  not  hurt  much;  and  as  for  the  killing  of 
the  bull  at  the  last  that  was  quickly  over. 

Gambling  is  another  favorite  Mexican  recreation. 
The  game  is  usually  for  small  sums,  and  to  play  half  an 
hour  for  a  stake  of  twenty-five  cents  is  quite  usual. 
But  though  as  a  rule  they  do  not  play  as  rashly  as  Amer- 
ican gamblers,  yet  a  well-to-do  Mexican  will  sometimes 
risk  considerable  amounts.  If  he  loses,  his  relatives 
look  on  it  as  an  accident  of  fate,  and  they  will  often  all 
contribute  to  restore  to  him  the  amount  he  squandered. 

The  Mexicans  have  two  Independence  Days  to  cele- 
brate, and  our  Fourth  of  July  makes  still  another  for 


94  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

the  dwellers  on  the  north  bank  of  the  river.  Freedom 
from  Spanish  oppression  was  won  in  1810  and  is  com- 
memorated on  Sept.  1 6th;  and  the  escape  from  the 
yoke  of  France  in  1862  is  celebrated  on  the  fifth  of  May. 
There  are  fireworks  and  noise  and  music,  and  in  the 
Mexican  town  they  have  a  parade  late  in  the  afternoon, 
and  finally  all  the  people  gather  for  an  evening  prom- 
enade on  the  plaza. 

A  very  interesting  phase  of  Mexican  life  is  found  in 
the  wedding  customs.  When  a  young  man  and  young 
woman  have  concluded  that  they  want  to  marry,  formal 
application  must  be  made  to  the  girl's  parents.  This 
falls  to  the  lot  of  the  boy's  father,  who  writes  a  letter,  or 
if  he  cannot  write,  the  lad  or  someone  else  writes  in  his 
name,  substantially  as  follows: 

"Being  that  your  daughter  is  a  worthy  girl,  my  son 
has  come  to  me  and  tells  me  that  he  wishes  to  marry 
her,  and  I,  discharging  the  duty  of  a  father  according 
to  the  laws  of  our  church,  and  also  to  comply  with  the 
rules  of  good  society,  write  to  ask  that  your  daughter 
may  unite  in  matrimony  with  my  son.  She  has  the 
qualities  that  will  make  any  man  happy,  and  I  hope  to 
have  a  favorable  answer  from  you." 

The  missive  is  inclosed  in  a  big,  official-looking  en- 
velope, and  then  wrapped  in  a  white  silk  handkerchief 
which  is  a  present  to  the  girl.  With  this  letter  in  their 
charge  the  parents  of  the  young  man  make  an  evening 
call  on  the  parents  of  the  young  woman.  But  they  do 


On  the  Banks  of  the  Rio  Grande  95 

not  discuss  the  subject  about  which  they  are  most  con- 
cerned. When  they  are  leaving  they  hand  over  the 
letter  and  say  they  will  call  for  an  answer  in  a  week  or 
two.  If  the  girl's  parents  do  not  favor  the  match  they 
talk  her  out  of  it  and  write  a  negative  reply.  But  if 
everything  is  all  right  they  say  the  wedding  can  be 
celebrated  as  soon  as  convenient. 

When  the  young  man  has  been  in  due  form  accepted 
he  is  supposed  to  begin  at  once  to  support  his  bride, 
though  she  continues  to  live  with  her  parents.  Perhaps 
he  gives  so  much  a  day  in  money,  or,  if  very  poor,  takes 
to  her  the  necessities  for  her  subsistence.  He  might 
even  turn  over  to  her  all  his  cash  and  portable  belong- 
ings, confiding  in  her  prudence  to  have  most  of  them 
left  for  their  mutual  use  when  they  start  housekeeping. 
Hitherto  the  couple  have  had  scarcely  any  opportunity 
to  talk  privately  together,  but  now  they  see  each  other 
as  often  as  they  please.  If  there  is  only  one  room  in  the 
bride's  house  her  relatives  go  visiting  at  the  neighbor's 
when  the  young  man  calls.  "So  the  two  are  quite 
happy,"  as  Antonio  said,  "until  they  are  married,  and 
then  their  troubles  begin." 

If  the  girl  belongs  to  a  family  that  is  "pretty  well 
fixed"  she  has  three  dresses  for  the  wedding  night.  At 
the  church  ceremony  she  is  in  full  white.  After  she 
returns  to  the  house  she  dons  a  dress  of  a  sky  blue  tint 
or  other  delicate  color,  and  in  this  dances  till  midnight. 
Then  she  puts  on  red.  The  ball  continues  till  daylight, 


96  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

when  the  revelers  depart,  and  the  bride  and  groom  go 
to  the  house  where  they  intend  to  live. 

The  people  are  superstitious  and  are  great  believers 
in  witchcraft.  "  I  knew  of  a  woman  who  was  sick  here," 
said  Antonio,  "and  they  took  a  right  black  chicken, 
killed  it,  and  soaked  it  in  kerosene,  put  on  some  chile 
powder,  and  then  burned  it,  feathers  and  all,  on  the 
floor.  Of  course  there  was  a  strong  smoke,  and  they 
held  the  sick  woman  so  her  head  was  in  it  and  she'd 
breathe  as  much  as  possible.  But  she  didn't  get  well." 

A  death  is  at  once  made  known  through  the  crying 
and  wailing  that  proceed  from  the  home  of  the  bereaved, 
and  the  house  is  soon  full  of  neighbors,  who  continue  to 
stay  about  in  strong  force  until  after  the  funeral.  Whis- 
key is  furnished  by  the  afflicted  family,  and  the  occa- 
sion is  more  jovial  than  serious  to  most  of  the  crowd. 

An  excursion  which  I  made  from  Eagle  Pass,  and 
recall  with  special  pleasure,  was  to  a  rustic  village  on 
the  Mexican  side  of  the  river.  Antonio  went  with  me, 
and  we  walked.  At  first  the  dusty  roadway  kept  to  the 
depths  of  a  hollow  through  a  monotonous  wood  of  mes- 
quite  where  the  mocking  birds  warbled,  and  the  red- 
birds  whistled.  Later  we  emerged  onto  stony  hills 
dotted  with  sagebrush  and  big  thorny  clumps  of  cactus. 
Here  we  met  a  flock  of  two  or  three  hundred  milch 
goats  grazing  along  in  the  care  of  a  medieval  looking 
shepherd.  Another  mile  brought  us  to  a  spot  where  we 
overlooked  a  luscious,  wooded  valley  with  a  little  river 


On  the  Banks  of  the  Rio  Grande  97 

winding  through  it,  and  we  could  see  cultivated  lands 
and  adobe  houses.  When  we  descended  to  the  river  we 
found  by  the  shore  many  groups  of  washerwomen. 
There  they  knelt  scrubbing  away,  some  with  a  wide 
board  slanting  into  the  swift  current,  others  using  a 
shallow,  partly  submerged  box.  They  had  soap,  and 
they  had  fires  to  heat  water,  and  the  children  ran  about 
wading  and  paddling.  It  was  quite  idyllic. 

At  several  spots  were  fords,  where  the  teams  and 
horseback  riders  waded  through,  and  we  followed  a 
path  in  the  rank  grass  and  jungles  of  cane  to  find  a 
bridge  farther  up  the  stream.  This  bridge  proved  to 
be  only  a  narrow,  precarious  timber  laid  across,  but  we 
got  safely  to  the  other  side,  and  there  Antonio  stopped 
to  get  a  drink.  He  said  the  water  was  not  bad,  but 
there  were  washerwomen  above  as  well  as  below,  and 
it  looked  too  soapy  to  tempt  me. 

The  village  was  an  odd,  half-ruinous  hamlet,  and 
the  home  premises  were  separated  from  the  highway 
by  walks  of  adobe,  or  fences  of  cane.  At  one  house 
into  which  I  looked  was  a  man  sitting  on  the  floor  mak- 
ing bird-cages,  and  he  had  numerous  gay  feathered 
captives  all  about  the  apartment  and  the  yard.  He  was 
a  handsome,  alert,  bright-eyed  fellow  who  made  bird- 
catching  his  business.  In  the  village  gardens  grew  figs 
and  peaches  and  grapes,  and  great  wide-spreading  pecan 
trees  flourished  along  the  stream.  All  things  indeed 


98  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

appeared  so  green  and  flourishing  that  it  seemed  as  if 
even  poverty  in  such  surroundings  must  hold  a  good 
deal  of  happiness. 

NOTE. — Anyone  journeying  through  Texas  toward  Mexico  or  the 
far  southwest  should  stop  at  San  Antonio.  It  has  a  marked  attraction 
in  its  delightful  climate,  and,  though  thriving  and  modern  in  most 
ways,  is  not  without  certain  interesting  Mexican  traits  and  features. 
No  other  Texan  town  can  rival  the  part  it  has  played  in  the  state's 
history,  and  its  age  is  attested  by  several  old  Spanish  Missions  that 
survive  in  the  vicinity.  They  belong  to  a  remote  past  that  now  seems 
but  a  dream.  One  of  these  old  mission  churches,  the  Alamo,  fronting 
on  a  plaza  of  the  same  name  in  the  heart  of  the  city,  has  perhaps  the 
most  tragic  fascination  of  any  building  in  this  country;  for  here  in 
1836  a  beleaguered  band  of  one  hundred  and  eighty  Americans  met 
an  untimely  death  at  the  hands  of  the  Mexicans.  Texas  had  been  a 
part  of  Mexico,  but  had  recently  revolted  and  proclaimed  itself  an 
independent  republic.  This  action  aroused  great  enthusiasm  in  the 
United  States,  and  many  went  to  aid  the  Texans  in  their  struggle  for 
liberty.  Among  these  was  Davy  Crockett,  the  most  famous  rifle-shot 
of  his  day,  and  such  a  successful  hunter  that  his  skill  was  proverbial. 
He  came  to  San  Antonio  and  joined  a  little  band  of  other  Americans 
who  had  fortified  themselves  in  the  Alamo.  About  the  same  time 
Santa  Anna,  the  dictator  of  Mexico,  arrived  with  an  army  of  four 
thousand  men  and  laid  siege  to  the  ancient  thick-walled  mission  build- 
ing. Day  after  day  the  defenders  withstood  the  attacking  host,  but 
at  last  breaches  were  made  in  the  outer  defences  through  which  the 
Mexicans  made  a  successful  charge.  The  frontiersmen  then  retreated 
to  the  inner  building  where  a  desperate  hand  to  hand  conflict  ensued. 
After  the  Americans  had  fired  their  long  rifles,  they  used  them  as  clubs, 
and  fought  with  their  knives  and  revolvers.  The  unequal  contest 
reeled  to  and  fro  between  the  shattered  walls  until  gradually  the  de- 
fenders were  all  killed.  Crockett  was  one  of  the  last  to  fall.  Wounded, 
and  ringed  around  by  the  bodies  of  the  men  he  had  slain,  he  continued 


On  the  Banks  of  the  Rio  Grande  99 

to  face  the  foe  with  his  back  to  the  wall.  Then  he,  too,  was  shot  down, 
and  the  fight  was  soon  over. 

But  as  the  story  of  the  combat  spread,  more  and  more  Americans 
flocked  to  the  aid  of  the  Texans  until  they  had  a  force  of  eleven  hun- 
dred men.  Then  they  assailed  the  Mexican  army  with  the  cry,  "Re- 
member the  Alamo,"  and  won  an  overwhelming  victory  that  secured 
the  independence  of  the  frontier  republic. 

Aside  from  the  Alamo,  it  has  always  seemed  to  my  fancy  that  the 
Rio  Grande  was  one  of  the  most  notable  attractions  of  the  state,  and 
there  is  a  certain  satisfaction  in  a  first  hand  acquaintance  with  the 
river,  even  if  the  stream  is  less  impressive  in  size  and  surroundings 
than  its  name  would  lead  one  to  suppose.  As  for  the  life  along  its 
banks,  that  is  quite  alluring,  and  a  few  days  can  be  spent  very  satis- 
factorily at  Eagle  Pass;  or,  perhaps  with  just  as  good  possibilities  of 
sight-seeing,  at  El  Paso,  where  the  hotel  accommodations  are  excep- 
tionally fine.  Just  across  the  river  at  both  places  is  an  old  Mexican 
town  where  the  quaint  homes,  costumes  and  manners  of  the  people 
are  so  different  from  those  of  our  own  land  that  they  have  for  the 
traveller  the  keenest  interest. 


VI 


PUEBLO    LIFE    IN    NEW   MEXICO 

MUCH  of  New  Mexico  seems  to  the  casual  ob- 
server a  half-naked  and  stony  wilderness  where 
only  the  scantiest  population  can  ever  find 
subsistence.  But  there  is  a  vast  amount  of  good  land 
that  only  needs  irrigation  to  make  it  productive  and 
beautiful;  and  by  utilizing  the  streams  fully  and  get- 
ting artesian  water  from  below  the  surface  the  aspect  of 
the  region  may  be  changed  materially.  By  the  time 
this  possibility  is  realized  to  any  marked  extent  the 
pueblo  life  now  characteristic  of  a  large  portion  of  the 
country  will  be  a  memory  of  the  past.  Even  as  things 
are  the  picturesque  conditions  that  make  the  Pueblo 
Indians  and  their  villages  so  interesting  are  giving  way 
to  the  white  man's  civilization,  and  their  homes  and 
habits  are  fast  being  modified. 

Several  of  the  pueblos  are  right  on  the  line  of  the  rail- 
road. Of  these,  Laguna  is  perhaps  best  worth  seeing, 
and  moreover  it  is  the  point  of  departure  for  visiting 
Acoma,  which  in  situation  and  in  primitiveness  is  the 
most  fascinating  pueblo  in  all  the  Southwest.  I  made 
the  fifteen  mile  journey  from  Laguna  to  Acoma  in  a 


Pueblo  Life  in  New  Mexico  101 

light  farm  wagon  accompanied  by  an  Indian  who 
served  both  as  guide  and  driver.  According  to  this 
Indian  the  road  was  a  very  good  one;  but  I  concluded 
he  meant  in  comparison  with  others  in  the  region. 
Sometimes  we  dragged  slowly  along  through  sand  ruts, 
sometimes  bumped  over  a  rough  shoulder  of  rock,  and 
there  were  sudden  gullies  and  steep  hills,  and  stretches 
of  hardened  clay  full  of  wheel  tracks  and  hoof  prints. 

The  scenery  was  rather  forbidding.  All  about,  at 
frequent  intervals,  rose  the  mesas  with  their  flat  tops 
and  their  sides  strewn  with  boulders  that  had  fallen 
from  above.  Some  of  them  were  mere  hills,  others 
mountainous  in  size  and  height.  The  half-barren  land 
between  was  dotted  with  bushy  cedars,  very  thick- 
stemmed  at  the  ground,  but  soon  tapering  off,  and 
always  dwarfed  in^stature.  At  last  we  descended  into 
a  big  level  valley  that  looked  like  the  floor  of  some  old 
lake.  It  was  thinly  grassed,  and  numerous  flocks  of 
sheep,  horses  and  cattle  were  grazing  on  it.  Each  flock 
of  sheep  included  a  number  of  black  ones,  and  still 
more  variety  was  added  by  the  presence  of  several 
goats,  which  are  valued  not  only  for  their  milk,  but  as  a 
protection  to  the  sheep  from  wild  animals.  The  coyotes 
follow  the  flocks  of  sheep  very  persistently,  and  the  old 
goats  stand  guard,  and  fight  the  enemy,  if  necessary. 

On  ahead  of  us  we  could  now  see  what  is  known  as 
"The  Enchanted  Mesa,"  a  vast  castle-like  rock  rising 
with  perpendicular  walls  from  the  floor  of  the  plain  to 


102    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

a  height  of  four  hundred  and  thirty  feet.  Its  great  size 
and  ragged  crags  make  it  one  of  the  most  impressive 
natural  wonders  on  the  continent.  Higher  and  higher 
it  loomed  as  we  drew  nearer,  and  its  name  and  the 
strange  legends  that  have  been  told  about  it  seemed 
quite  in  keeping  with  its  peculiar  character.  According 
to  one  of  the  legends  the  pueblo  of  Acoma  formerly 
occupied  this  height,  and  the  path  by  which  the  people 
went  up  and  down  followed  a  crevice  where  a  huge  por- 
tion of  the  face  of  the  precipice  had  partially  separated 
from  the  main  mass.  One  day,  while  all  of  the  inhabi- 
tants except  three  sick  women  were  at  work  in  the 
fields  on  the  plain  below,  there  came  a  sudden  storm, 
and  the  deluge  of  rain,  or  the  lightning,  sent  the  leaning 
ledge  crashing  down  to  the  base  of  the  mesa.  The  path 
was  destroyed,  and  the  three  sick  women  perished  be- 
yond reach  of  aid  on  the  then  inaccessible  cliff,  and  the 
rest  of  the  community  sought  a  new  place  for  their 
village. 

Several  exploring  parties  in  recent  years  have  been  to 
the  summit  of  the  great  rock.  The  first  of  these,  led  by 
an  Eastern  college  professor,  laid  siege  to  the  mesa  with 
a  mortar  and  a  number  of  miles  of  assorted  ropes,  sup- 
plemented by  pulleys,  a  boatswain's  chair  and  a  pair 
of  horses.  Later  parties  have  scaled  the  height  aided 
only  by  a  half  dozen  lengths  of  six  foot  ladders.  They 
scrambled  up  a  considerable  portion  of  the  distance 
over  the  loose  stones  at  the  sides  of  the  precipice,  and 


Pueblo  Life  in  New  Mexico  103 

went  still  father  up  a  narrow  gorge.  Presently  the  lad- 
ders became  necessary,  but  only  in  one  or  two  places 
did  they  have  to  put  all  six  together.  Nevertheless,  the 
ascent  was  arduous,  and  at  the  steepest  points  somewhat 
perilous. 

On  top  is  an  area  of  twelve  acres  that  is  almost  bare 
rock.  The  explorers  find  there  bits  of  broken  pottery, 
stone  axes  and  arrowheads,  and  ornaments  made  of 
wild  hogs'  tusks.  The  only  indication  of  buildings  is  a 
regular  arrangement  of  loose  stones  which  evidently 
were  the  foundation  of  a  round  room.  That  the  mesa 
was  ever  the  site  of  a  pueblo  seems  doubtful.  More 
likely  it  was  used  simply  as  a  place  of  refuge  for  small 
parties  cut  ofF  from  retreat  to  the  main  village  by 
marauding  enemies. 

Three  miles  beyond,  at  the  end  of  the  valley  on  an- 
other wild  mesa,  is  the  pueblo  of  Acoma,  a  place  of 
about  half  a  thousand  inhabitants.  There  it  has  been 
for  seven  hundred  years,  probably  presenting  from  the 
beginning  almost  the  identical  appearance  it  does  today. 
From  a  distance  you  would  think  the  long  continuous 
lines  of  adobe  walls  were  a  part  of  the  mesa  itself  rising 
to  a  slightly  greater  height,  but  as  you  draw  nearer  you 
see  occasional  little  chimneys  and  windows.  The  lofty 
table  rock  on  which  it  stands  is  scarcely  less  romantic 
than  the  Enchanted  Mesa,  and  the  savage  crags  seem 
to  have  been  carved  by  thunderbolts. 


104   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

At  first  sight  no  way  presents  itself  of  climbing  the 
precipitous  sides;  yet  the  Indians  have  no  less  than  ten 
trails  up  different  crevices,  two  of  which  are  practical 
for  horses.  We,  however,  stopped  with  our  team  at 
one  side  of  the  mesa,  where  rose,  here  and  there,  isolated 
brown  pillars  and  ledges — gigantic  statues  of  nature's 
own  making.  About  the  base  of  them  were  rude  cedar 
fences  and  a  few  hovels  where  the  Indians  kept  their 
milch  animals  at  night.  Beside  one  of  these  corral 
clusters  we  unhitched  our  horses  and  put  them  in  a  hut. 
Then  we  ascended  a  sand  drift  that  rose  far  up  against 
the  cliff;  and  when  that  ended  clambered  on  up  a  nar- 
row crevice  which  twisted  this  way  and  that,  and  some- 
times passed  over  a  strewing  of  boulders  and  sometimes 
beneath  one  lodged  between  the  walls  of  the  ravine. 
Steps  had  been  rudely  chipped  out  at  the  steepest  points, 
and  little  pocket-like  holes  made  in  the  adjoining  cliff 
to  grip  with  the  hand. 

The  top  of  the  mesa  is  a  gentle  slope  of  solid  rock 
with  a  somewhat  irregular  surface.  In  two  or  three 
places  are  deep  hollows  where  the  rain  water  collects  in 
little  ponds,  and  this  is  the  town's  source  of  supply  for 
drinking,  cooking  and  washing.  The  water  looked 
rather  dubious,  but  I  was  assured  that  impurities  set- 
tled to  the  bottom  and  left  it  clean  and  palatable. 

A  church  and  three  parallel  lines  of  homes  consti- 
tute the  village.  Each  series  of  homes  rises  in  several 
terraces,  and  the  ascent  to  the  top  of  the  first  terrace  is 


Pueblo  Life  in  New  Mexico  105 

made  by  great  rough  outside  ladders.  To  climb  to  the 
upper  terraces,  however,  a  few  stone  steps  often  do  ser- 
vice. The  original  purpose  of  this  type  of  architecture 
was  protection  against  enemies;  for  the  first  story  was 
without  doors  or  windows,  and  when  the  ladders  were 
drawn  up  the  pueblos  were  safe  from  the  assaults  of 
their  rudely  armed,  savage  neighbors. 

The  walls  are  of  stone  laid  in  mud,  and  are  daubed 
over  smooth  with  mud  inside,  and  frequently  outside 
also.  In  constructing  the  roofs  pine  is  used  for  the 
large  beams,  and  across  these  cedar  poles  are  laid  close 
together.  Next  comes  a  layer  of  rushes  and  grass  and 
the  spiny  leaves  of  the  yucca.  Then  clay  mud  mixed 
with  broken  bits  of  wheat  straw  is  put  on.  In  a  pro- 
longed dry  spell  the  roof  is  apt  to  crack,  and  unless  the 
cracks  are  mended  the  rain  soaks  through  and  trickles 
down  on  the  floor  where  it  muddies  up  everything. 
Sheets  of  crystal  gypsum  serve  for  windows,  the 
largest  of  which  are  about  twelve  by  eighteen  inches. 
They  are  windows  of  a  single  pane  set  solidly  in  an 
aperture  of  the  wall. 

The  dwellings  have  from  two  to  eight  rooms,  includ- 
ing such  as  are  used  for  storage,  and  these  are  not  nearly 
as  gloomy  as  one  might  expect,  for  they  are  kept  thor- 
oughly whitewashed.  One  of  the  largest  apartments  is 
the  living-room.  It  is  warmed  by  a  fireplace — not  a 
very  economical  method  of  heating,  perhaps;  but  the 
walls  are  so  thick,  and  there  is  such  lack  of  ventilation 


io6    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

that  a  little  fuel  goes  a  long  way.  Wood  is  plentiful  on 
the  rough  lands  around,  and  the  Indians  can  get  all 
they  want  for  the  trouble  of  cutting  and  drawing  it,  or 
carrying  it  on  their  backs  as  they  sometimes  do.  Scrub 
cedar  is  used  chiefly,  because  that  is  most  accessible; 
but  pine  is  preferred  when  it  can  be  had,  for  it  burns 
with  almost  no  smoke. 

Across  one  end  of  the  living-room  a  long  pole  is  sus- 
pended from  the  rafters  by  thongs  of  rawhide.  On  this 
is  hung  all  the  extra  clothing,  blankets,  belts,  and  some 
tanned  buckskin  not  yet  made  into  garments.  Certain 
family  heirlooms  in  the  form  of  necklaces  are  likewise 
hung  on  the  pole  where  they  will  attract  the  admiration 
of  visitors.  Some  of  these  are  very  old  and  are  made  of 
fragments  of  seashells  and  black  and  cream  colored 
stones  shaped  into  beads.  The  best  of  them  are  worth 
fifteen  or  twenty  horses. 

A  single  sleeping  apartment  does  for  an  entire  family. 
The  beds  are  mattresses  of  wool  laid  on  the  floor.  There 
is  never  much  circulation  of  air  in  the  room,  and  if  the 
weather  is  cold  it  is  shut  up  tight  and  the  fireplace  fur- 
nishes the  only  ventilation.  In  warm  weather,  how- 
ever, the  Pueblo  folk  often  sleep  out  on  the  terrace. 

To  descend  to  the  lower  rooms  there  is  a  trap-door 
and  ladders.  Climb  down,  and  you  find  corn  stored  in 
a  heap  on  the  floor,  and  the  wheat  in  big  bins  of  plas- 
tered stone.  Here,  too,  is  the  same  sort  of  truck  that 
white  people  usually  relegate  to  the  garret — broken 


The  ladders  that  give  access  to  the  upper  stories 


Pueblo  Life  in  New  Mexico  107 

tools  and  furniture,  discarded  clothing  and  whatever 
other  useless  things  would  be  in  the  way  in  the  upper 
rooms. 

The  young  people  are  inclined  to  adopt  white  ways 
and  to  buy  home  conveniences  that  were  formerly  lack- 
ing. For  instance,  probably  half  the  families  now  have 
tables;  but  it  used  to  be  the  universal  habit  to  eat  on 
the  floor,  seated  on  a  few  little  stools  or  blocks  of  wood, 
or  blankets,  while  the  bowls,  platters  and  other  pottery 
containing  the  food  were  distributed  handily  around. 

The  sanitary  arrangements  of  the  homes  are  not  all 
they  might  be;  yet  the  women  sweep  out  daily,  and 
there  is  an  annual  clean-up  of  the  whole  town  when 
refuse  and  filth  are  carted  off,  walls  whitewashed,  and 
everything  made  as  spick  and  span  as  the  antique  con- 
ditions of  the  town  will  allow. 

In  clothing,  the  Indians  are  gradually  donning  the 
garments  of  the  whites,  and  so  far  as  the  men  are  con- 
cerned the  transformation  has  often  been  complete. 
The  elders  of  the  tribe,  however,  still  occasionally  put  on 
blankets  and  colored  turbans.  Blanket  wearing  is  the 
rule  with  the  women,  but  their  gowns  are  of  civilized 
cloth,  and  shoes  and  stockings  are  replacing  the  moc- 
casins and  leg-windings  of  buckskin.  These  buckskin 
leg-windings  are  supposed  to  have  been  devised  as  a 
protection  against  snakes,  and  the  present-day  wearers 
retain  them  as  a  matter  of  fashion.  Yet,  in  summer, 
they  find  the  buckskin  so  uncomfortably  warm  that 
they  are  apt  to  take  it  off  and  go  barefoot. 


io8    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

The  people  are  peaceful  and  thrifty.  Those  Indian 
tribes  that  roamed  the  mountains  and  plains  have  be- 
come wards  of  the  government,  but  the  Pueblo  Indians 
have  maintained  a  self-supporting  integrity.  They 
irrigate  in  the  valleys,  and  raise  such  staples  as  corn  and 
wheat,  and  a  variety  of  garden  vegetables,  apples,  plums 
and  other  fruit. 

One  of  the  picturesque  incidents  of  the  harvest  is  the 
wheat  threshing.  A  level  circle  of  ground  is  prepared 
with  a  surface  of  clay  that  is  wet  slightly  and  beaten 
and  walked  over  till  it  is  perfectly  hard  and  smooth. 
After  inclosing  it  with  a  fence  of  cedar  poles,  all  the 
grain  belonging  to  one  farmer  is  arranged  in  the  center 
in  a  big  loose  pile,  probably  not  less  than  six  yards  in 
diameter,  leaving  about  eight  feet  between  it  and  the 
fence.  The  threshing  is  accomplished  by  driving  a  dozen 
or  so  horses  around  the  circuit,  beginning  about  nine 
in  the  morning.  A  squad  of  men  and  boys  is  on  hand, 
armed  with  whips  to  chase  the  horses,  and  the  central 
pile  gradually  works  down  so  that  all  the  ears  are  trodden 
out.  By  twelve  o'clock  the  threshing  is  done,  and  in 
the  afternoon  the  straw  is  thrown  into  a  pile  outside  of 
the  fence,  and  the  wheat  cleaned  up  and  everything 
made  ready  for  threshing  the  next  man's  crop  on  the 
morrow.  The  grain  is  separated  from  the  chaff  some 
windy  day  by  throwing  it  up  in  the  air  with  wooden 
shovels. 


Pueblo  Life  in  New  Mexico  109 

Dogs  and  poultry  abound  in  the  village;  for  every 
family  keeps  about  a  dozen  fowls  and  very  likely  half 
that  number  of  dogs.  One  may  often  meet  an  Indian 
on  horseback  with  three  or  four  curs  ranging  along  in 
his  wake.  The  Indians  have  great  herds  of  sheep  that 
wander  among  the  mesas  the  year  through,  and  they 
have  many  horses  and  cattle.  Certain  kinds  of  wild 
grass  in  the  Southwest  cure  on  the  stalk,  and  this  hay 
which  nature  furnishes,  and  nibblings  of  sagebrush  and 
cactus  keep  the  creatures  from  perishing  in  the  lean 
months.  The  rainy  season  comes  in  July  and  August, 
after  which  the  grass  flourishes  and  there  is  abundance 
of  feed  through  the  fall.  The  only  creatures  that  are 
provided  with  winter  shelter  are  the  horses  and  such 
cows  and  goats  as  are  milked.  For  the  horses  rude 
stables  are  constructed,  but  the  cows  and  goats  get  along 
with  corrals.  Alfalfa  and  oats  are  raised  to  feed  these 
animals;  and  the  corn  fodder  is  saved  and  thrown  up 
on  the  stable  roofs  to  keep  the  stock  from  devouring  it 
all  at  once  or  trampling  it  in  the  mire.  The  creatures 
get  but  scanty  fare  at  best  and  are  sure  to  be  decidedly 
thin  by  spring.  The  sale  of  wool  and  of  the  sheep  and 
other  creatures  is  the  chief  source  of  the  Indians'  in- 
come. Something  is  added  to  this  by  the  women  who 
make  pottery  and  dispose  of  it  at  the  railway  stations  to 
travellers  on  the  trains,  or  to  traders;  and  a  portion  of 
the  men  work  for  wages. 


no    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

A  good  deal  of  the  money  that  comes  into  their  hands 
is  not  spent  wisely;  but  the  same  might  be  said  of  the 
expenditures  of  any  class  the  world  over.  They  gamble 
in  a  small  way,  buy  candy  and  jewelry,  cookstoves, 
sewing-machines,  and  brass  bedsteads,  and  make  curi- 
ous misfits  in  introducing  modern  articles  into  their 
ancient  homes  and  half  savage  habits  of  life. 

Their  amusements  are  more  varied  than  the  outsider 
would  suspect,  and,  in  particular,  they  enjoy  races,  both 
on  foot  and  on  horseback.  One  peculiar  contest  of 
speed  and  expertness  consists  in  two  rival  parties  going 
in  opposite  directions  and  each  kicking  a  stick  about  a 
foot  long  and  an  inch  in  diameter  over  a  course  agreed 
on.  This  course  may  be  anywhere  from  five  to  twenty 
miles  long. 

In  the  fall  some  day  is  fixed  on  for  a  rabbit  hunt.  The 
young  men,  to  the  number  of  about  a  score,  ride  off  on 
horseback  armed  with  clubs,  which  they  hurl  at  every 
rabbit  they  sight.  Each  rider  is  eager  to  outdo  his  com- 
rades and  get  the  largest  number,  and  they  have  a  wild 
time  chasing  and  heading  off  the  rabbits.  If  fortune 
favors  they  may  secure  an  average  of  two  or  three  apiece, 
but  on  the  other  hand  the  whole  crowd  may  kill  only  a 
half  dozen. 

A  hunt  of  a  more  serious  sort,  yet  scarcely  less  en- 
joyed, occurs  in  November,  when  three  or  four  parties 
with  about  ten  in  each  go  off  some  fifty  miles  in  different 
directions  and  camp  and  hunt  deer. 


The  governor  of  the  village 


Pueblo  Life  in  New  Mexico  in 

For  real  fun,  however,  from  the  Indian  viewpoint, 
nothing  quite  equals  a  special  race  it  is  customary  to 
have  on  St.  John's  Day.  The  start  is  made  on  a  level 
piece  of  ground  near  the  village,  where  a  live  rooster  has 
been  buried  in  the  sand  all  but  its  head.  From  fifteen 
to  thirty  racers  mount  their  horses,  go  back  from  the 
rooster  about  two  hundred  yards,  and  at  a  signal  put 
their  steeds  into  a  run.  As  they  dash  past  the  rooster 
each  makes  a  grab  at  the  bird  until  someone  gets  him. 
Then  on  they  go  in  a  mad  rush  engaged  in  a  lively  con- 
test to  gain  possession  of  the  captive  chanticleer.  The 
bird  may  change  hands  a  number  of  times,  and  the 
fellow  who  brings  him  back  to  the  starting-point  is  the 
victor. 

After  the  harvest  is  finished  dances  are  frequent  until 
spring.  Many  of  these  dances  are  religious  and  com- 
memorate some  old  tradition,  and  the  participants 
dress  up  in  all  their  barbaric  glory.  Other  dances  are 
merely  social.  There  is  not  much  movement  in  them. 
The  dancers  gather  in  a  room  and  stand  facing  each 
other,  one  or  two  rows  of  men  on  this  side,  and  similar 
rows  of  women  on  the  other.  Then  they  jump  up  and 
down,  with  certain  changes  of  step,  keeping  time  to  the 
energetic  music'of  drums  and  their  own  chanting. 

One  other  pleasure  that  should  be  mentioned  is  the 
nutting  expeditions.  There  are  great  forests  of  pines 
within  twelve  or  fifteen  miles,  and  thither  the  Indians 
resort  in  the  late  autumn  and  erect  their  tents  on  the 


112    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

mountain  sides,  a  number  of  families  grouped  together, 
mostly  women  and  children.  They  pick  up  thousands 
of  bushels  and  have  great  sport.  The  nuts  are  nearly 
all  consumed  in  the  months  to  come  by  the  Indians 
themselves.  They  like  them  best  roasted,  and  evening 
is  the  favorite  time  for  eating  them.  It  is  customary  to 
set  out  the  nuts  when  visitors  happen  in,  and  while  those 
present  feast  they  gossip  and  perhaps  repeat  the  ancient 
folk  tales  of  their  race.  They  are  great  story-tellers, 
and  some  of  the  old  men — especially  certain  of  the 
numerous  medicine  men — are  professionals  in  the  art. 
The  stories  are  a  mingling  of  fact  and  fiction.  Some  of 
them  have  to  do  with  long  journeys  and  adventurous 
hunting  excursions.  Others  are  narratives  of  fights 
with  the  Navajos  and  of  the  deeds  of  the  tribal  heroes. 
These  heroes  are  still  human  in  their  attributes  if  they 
lived  within  a  generation  or  two,  but  before  that  they 
are  demigods. 

In  the  presence  of  white  men  the  Indians  are  usually 
silent  and  undemonstrative,  but  among  themselves  they 
carry  on  much  lively  chatter  that  is  both  loquacious  and 
humorous,  and  they  will  often  stay  up  half  the  night 
over  their  small  talk. 

The  climate  is  favorable  to  health;  and  now  that 
the  Indians  are  no  longer  swept  off  wholesale  by  small- 
pox, every  hardy  child  has  a  fair  prospect  of  a  long  life. 
Rheumatism,  pneumonia, and  diphtheria  are  perhaps  the 
most  prevalent  diseases.  The  people  have  a  good  deal 


Pueblo  Life  in  New  Mexico  113 

of  faith  in  the  curative  properties  of  roots  and  herbs, 
and  when  these  fail  call  in  a  medicine  man.  The 
physician  tries  to  effect  a  cure  by  incantations;  and  he 
may  resort  to  breath'ing  on  the  patient  or  will  use  his 
eagle  feathers  to  brush  away  the  pain,  or  he  will  stroke 
the  sick  person  with  a  bear's  claw,  which  is  another 
implement  of  his  trade.  Often  his  labors  continue  for 
hours  at  a  time.  His  reward  is  generally  a  present  of 
provisions  or  some  article  of  clothing. 

Each  tribe  has  its  governor  and  other  officers,  elected 
annually.  The  voting  is  done  at  a  public  meeting  where 
the  supporters  of  the  rival  candidates  stand  up  in  turn  to 
be  counted.  In  the  evening,  after  the  election,  there  is 
a  big  dance  in  some  private  house  that  has  a  large 
dining-room.  It  lasts  most  of  the  night.  Once  a  month 
the  council  holds  a  session  to  transact  public  business 
and  settle  quarrels.  This  is  a  daytime  meeting,  and 
every  official  present  receives  a  fee  of  fifty  cents.  Money 
for  needful  expenses  comes  largely  from  fines  for  drunk- 
enness or  assaults,  but  once  in  a  while  a  small  assess- 
ment is  levied.  Roads,  bridges,  fences,  and  irrigating 
ditches  are  taken  care  of  by  each  man  contributing  a 
certain  amount  of  labor  on  them  yearly.  All  the  land  is 
owned  in  common,  but  any  family  can  have  set  off  to  it 
as  much  as  it  will  cultivate.  If  this  land  is  allowed  to 
lie  idle  for  three  years  it  reverts  to  the  pueblo. 

When  the  first  Spaniards  invaded  the  region  the 
Pueblos  seem  to  have  accepted  their  rule  and  religion 


114    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

without  any  very  strenuous  resistance.  But  in  1681  a 
plot  was  formed  to  throw  off  the  yoke.  A  day  was  set 
for  the  massacre  of  all  Caucasians  in  the  pueblo  country. 
Four  hundred  persons  including  soldiers,  civilians,  and 
priests  were  killed,  and  the  rest  fled  for  their  lives. 
Churches  were  pillaged  and  torn  down  and  mines  filled 
up.  Three  priests  who  were  in  Acoma  at  the  time  of 
the  outbreak  were  taken  to  a  high  point  on  the  edge  of 
the  mesa  and  compelled  to  jump.  Two  were  thus 
killed  outright,  but  the  gown  of  the  third  expanded  into 
a  sort  of  parachute  which  broke  the  force  of  his  fall  and 
saved  him  from  injury.  The  Indians  thought  his  escape 
from  death  was  due  to  heavenly  intervention  and  they 
gave  him  his  liberty. 

It  soon  happened  that  the  leader  of  the  revolt,  intoxi- 
cated by  success,  insisted  on  being  paid  divine  honors. 
Hero  worship  of  this  sort  was  not  to  the  liking  of  the 
rest  of  the  Indians,  and  dissensions  were  a  result.  Be- 
sides, the  different  tribes  got  to  squabbling  among 
themselves.  So  in  a  dozen  years  the  Spaniards  had 
reconquered  the  pueblos.  Since  then  they  have  been 
at  peace  with  the  whites,  but  have  suffered  much  at  the 
hands  of  the  Navajos  and  Apaches.  They  are  naturally 
peaceful,  but  they  would  fight  hardily  in  defence  of 
their  homes;  and  when  they  were  on  the  walls  of  their 
Gibraltar-like  towns  with  their  bows  and  arrows,  lances 
and  war-clubs  they  were  by  no  means  to  be  despised. 
Their  savage  foes,  therefore,  confined  their  efforts  to 
cutting  off  small  parties  and  stealing  sheep.  Some- 


An 


Pueblo  Life  in  New  Mexico  115 

times  the  Apaches  would  pick  up  a  stray  child.  This 
child  was  made  a  member  of  the  captor's  tribe,  and  a 
good  vigorous  boy  was  always  considered  a  welcome 
addition  to  the  tribal  strength. 

The  Pueblo  Indians  gave  our  own  government  valu- 
able help  in  its  operations  against  the  nomadic  Navajos, 
both  in  fighting  and  as  scouts.  Their  natural  capacity, 
energy,  and  thrift  place  them  decidedly  above  the  aver- 
age of  red  men,  and  their  homes  and  ways  of  life  are 
strikingly  original  and  interesting.  This  is  especially 
true  of  Acoma  which  stands  on  its  rugged  mesa  just  as 
it  has  for  centuries  past,  basking  in  the  summer  suns 
and  swept  by  the  winter  blasts,  with  that  wild  region 
around  of  fantastic  rocks,  curiously  eroded  pillars  and 
great  buttes. 

Another  place  in  New  Mexico  possessing  a  peculiar 
attraction  on  account  of  its  age  is  Sante  Fe.  It  is  the 
oldest  European  town  in  the  United  States,  and  it  con- 
tains the  oldest  church  and  the  oldest  dwelling.  These 
two  structures  adjoin  each  other  and  are  impressive  in 
their  simplicity  and  evident  antiquity.  They  are  of 
thick-walled  adobe,  as  are  many  other  buildings  in  the 
town,  which  is  as  much  Mexican  as  it  is  American  in 
appearance  and  manners.  It  lies  in  a  vast  semi-arid 
basin  with  hills  and  lofty  mountains  at  some  distance. 
Little  irrigating  ditches  network  the  town  and  there  are 
luscious  gardens  and  thriving  trees.  The  inhabitants 
number  only  a  few  thousand  and  the  place  has  much 


n6   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

the  character  of  a  big  lazy  village.  Its  people  like  to 
loiter  on  the  shadowy,  green-turfed  plaza  and  on  the 
corridor-like  sidewalks,  across  which  the  older  buildings 
have  extended  pillared  porticos.  There  has  apparently 
never  been  any  regular  plan  in  the  building  of  the  city, 
and  the  streets  wind,  and  zigzag,  and  jerk  around 
corners  in  a  most  unexpected  fashion.  As  a  somewhat 
garrulous  visitor  whom  I  fell  in  with  remarked:  "You 
walk  along  and  think  you  are  going  somewhere  only  to 
find  you  are  going  somewhere  else.  Oh,  it's  jiggety 
jog;  but,  by  gracious!  I  like  it." 

The  speaker  was  a  gray  old  man  who  had  been  a 
captain  in  the  Civil  War.  Sante  Fe's  reputation  as  a 
health  resort  had  drawn  him  thither,  and  he  was  de- 
lighted with  its  climate,  its  quaintness  and  the  friendli- 
ness of  its  inhabitants.  He  had  a  cheerful  greeting  for 
everyone  we  met.  Often  he  paused  to  shake  hands 
with  this  one  or  that — to  sympathize  with  a  sick  man, 
to  pat  a  child  on  the  head,  to  discuss  history  and  re- 
ligion with  some  priest. 

"You  couldn't  use  street  cars  here,"  he  said  in  con- 
tinuing his  comments  on  the  character  of  the  town, 
"unless  they  were  made  on  an  angle  and  a  circle,  be- 
cause the  streets  are  so  crooked.  Why,  there  isn't  a 
square  corner  in  the  city.  You  go  along  one  street,  and 
you  run  right  up  ag'in'  a  house.  You  try  another  and 
it  takes  you  into  a  dooryard;  and  I  was  in  one  that 
ended  like  a  wedge  so  I  just  had  to  turn  around  and 
come  back. 


Pueblo  Life  in  New  Mexico  117 

"See  those  little  burros  with  the  loads  of  wood  on 
their  backs,"  said  the  captain  pointing  down  the  street 
with  his  cane.  "The  wood  is  all  cut  up  ready  for  the 
stove,  and  the  driver  in  charge  peddles  it  from  house  to 
house.  Each  burro  carries  about  two  wheelbarrow 
loads,  and  they've  come  anywhere  from  five  to  twenty 
miles.  A  man  or  boy  follows  behind  and  tickles  them 
up  with  a  switch — any  old  way  to  get  there. 

"  But  those  peddlers  are  making  an  honest  living.  I 
recall  back  in  Ohio  a  man  who  went  around  with  a  two- 
horse  covered  wagon,  and  on  the  sides  was  painted  in 
big  letters  'WHAT  IS  IT  ?  Admission  10  cents.'  The 
fellow  lived  in  the  wagon  and  drove  from  place  to  place 
exhibiting  an  animal  he  had  inside.  You  paid  your 
ten  cents  and  went  up  some  steps  behind,  and  when  you 
saw  the  creature  you'd  say :  'Why,  it  looks  like  a  ground- 
hog,' and  that's  what  it  was — nothing  but  a  dirty  Oregon 
ground-hog.  And  yet  that  man  stirred  up  curiosity  by 
his  sign,  and  people  would  climb  into  his  wagon  and 
discuss  and  discuss  what  the  animal  really  was.  I  sup- 
pose if  I  was  to  attempt  a  thing  like  that  the  sheriff 
would  get  me  sure  and  put  me  in  a  lunatic  asylum.  But 
tricks  go  all  right  with  some  men." 

A  wayside  shrub  attracted  my  companion's  attention, 
and  he  broke  off  a  twig,  which  he  showed  to  the  next 
man  we  met  with  a  query  as  to  its  name.  The  man 
replied  rather  gruffly  that  he  didn't  know  what  the 
shrub  was  and  didn't  care. 


n8    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

"You  don't  live  in  this  town,  I  guess,"  commented 
the  captain,  and  the  man  shook  his  head  and  walked  on. 

"I  knew  he  didn't,"  the  captain  declared,  "or  he 
wouldn't  have  answered  a  civil  question  like  that. 
They're  a  fine  people  here,  polite  and  intelligent  and 
accommodating,  and  they  have  the  best  climate  in  the 
world.  Back  in  Ohio  it's  an  old  saying  that  we  have 
six  months  of  winter  and  three  months  of  late  in  the 
fall  every  year.  But  here,  even  in  winter,  most  of  the 
days  are  pleasant  and  comfortable.  Then  in  summer, 
though  the  thermometer  goes  up  as  high  as  one  hundred 
and  twenty  in  the  shade,  they  tell  me  it  is  a  dry  heat 
that  don't  trouble  a  person.  A  man  may  perspire,  and 
a  few  drops  fall  from  his  face,  but  he  don't  get  wringing 
wet  as  he  would  in  the  East.  It's  healthy  here.  You 
bet  it  is;  and  I  never  was  anywhere  that  suited  me 
better." 

So  he  went  on  in  his  own  lively  fashion  expatiating  on 
the  charms  of  the  old  town,  and  in  his  opinion  it  evi- 
dently was  not  much  inferior  to  the  original  Garden  of 
Eden. 

NOTE. — New  Mexico,  in  spite  of  its  general  aspect  of  arid  and  sun- 
burned monotony,  has  much  to  entice  the  traveller  to  pause  and  ob- 
serve it  more  in  detail;  but  of  its  various  attractions  the  pueblos  are 
the  most  piquant  and  unusual.  Some  of  these  are  very  easy  of  access, 
though  naturally  such  are  less  characteristic  than  those  more  remote. 
The  many-chambered  communal  homes  in  the  territory  number  over 
a  score,  and  their  inhabitants  own  nearly  a  million  acres  of  land. 


*The  old  church  at  Santa  Fe 


Pueblo  Life  in  New  Mexico  119 

Albuquerque  is  a  good  central  point  from  which  to  start  visiting  the 
pueblos.  Isleta,  one  of  the  most  important,  is  only  ten  miles  distant, 
right  on  the  railroad.  Laguna  is  fifty-six  miles  farther  to  the  west,  and 
is  not  only  extremely  interesting  in  itself,  but  is  the  nearest  point  of 
departure  from  the  railway  for  Acoma  and  the  Enchanted  Mesa. 
Accommodations  at  Laguna  are  poor,  but  the  trip  to  Acoma  will 
amply  reward  one  for  a  good  deal  of  discomfort.  The  journey  to  it 
and  back  can  easily  be  made  in  a  day.  Another  noteworthy  pueblo  is 
Zuni,  forty-five  miles  from  Fort  Wingate. 

For  enjoyment  of  a  different  sort  visit  old  Santa  Fe.  It  offers  ex- 
ceptional attractions  in  the  way  of  climate,  quaintness,  age,  historic 
associations,  and  excellent  hotels.  The  town  is  only  a  few  miles  off 
the  main  line  of  east  and  west  railroad,  and  merits  much  more  atten- 
tion from  travellers  than  it  has  had  hitherto. 

Still  another  attraction  of  New  Mexico  is  its  weather.  The  typical 
day  is  absolutely  cloudless,  and  the  sun  makes  its  journey  across  the 
vast  blue  dome  of  the  sky  without  the  least  film  of  mist  to  obscure  its 
brightness,  and  they  have  three  hundred  such  days  every  year. 


VII 

AROUND    PIKE'S    PEAK 

A  GOOD  many  people  go  to  the  top  of  the  Peak  on 
foot,"  remarked  a  casual  acquaintance  soon  after 
I  reached  Colorado  Springs,  near  the  base  of 
the  mountain;    "but  a  person  like  you  from  the  low- 
lying  Eastern  States  couldn't  do  it.    You  are  not  used  to 
high  altitudes,  and  your  breath  would  give  out,  and 
you'd  be  so  sick  and  faint  you'd  have  to  turn  back." 

What  this  man  said  proved  to  be  my  undoing,  for  I 
felt  that  I  must  find  out  for  myself  whether  he  was  right 
or  not.  The  mountain  is  a  little  over  fourteen  thousand 
feet  high,  and  rises  eight  thousand  above  the  village  of 
Manitou  where  the  climbing  actually  begins.  There  is 
a  cog-wheel  railroad  for  persons  who  choose  to  journey 
comfortably;  and  those  otherwise  minded  usually 
trudge  along  the  tracks.  I  started  at  noon  to  make  the 
nine  mile  ascent.  The  trail  at  once  became  toilsomely 
steep.  It  followed  up  a  ravine  amid  thin  pine  woods, 
and  on  the  rocky  slopes  were  many  precariously- 
balanced  boulders  of  mammoth  size  apparently  ready 
to  roll  down  and  crush  everything  in  their  path.  Quite 
a  number  of  these  wayside  boulders  were  made  strangely 


Around  Pike's  Peak  121 

incongruous  by  having  religious  mottoes  painted  on 
them  in  big  black  letters.  I  suppose  some  pious  indi- 
vidual had  done  this  for  the  public  good,  with  the  idea 
that  the  surroundings  would  incline  those  who  passed 
up  and  down  to  serious  thoughts.  The  execution  was 
rather  rude,  as  will  be  seen  by  the  following  sample: 

HE  THAT  BLIEVETH 
SHALL  B  SAVED 

HE  WHO  DOES 

NOT  SHALL  B 

DAMNED 

Another  ran  in  this  wise — "Let  the  wicked  forsake 
his  way;"  but  some  wag  had  added  a  letter  which 
made  it  read,  "Let  the  wicked  forsake  this  way." 

For  the  first  two  miles  I  had  the  constant  company 
of  a  mountain  stream  that  made  the  air  musical  with 
its  rushing  and  leaping,  but  presently  I  left  the  ravine 
and  went  on  by  a  gentler  grade  across  ragged  upland 
with  here  and  there  an  expanse  of  bog,  or  a  little  lake. 
When  I  approached  the  timber  line  the  slant  was  again 
sharply  upward.  From  here  I  could  look  far  off  over 
the  neighboring  giant  heights  and  see  the  level  prairie 
to  the  east  with  the  cloud  shadows  floating  across  its 
illimitable  expanse.  Close  about  was  the  lonely  wilder- 
ness, almost  silent,  save  for  the  soughing  of  the  wind 
through  the  dark  evergreen  foliage. 

By  this  time  I  was  extremely  tired,  the  muscles  I  used 
most  were  aching,  and  my  heart  was  beating  violently. 


122   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

Besides  that,  I  was  panting  for  breath,  and  I  had  to 
stop  every  little  while  to  recuperate.  Things  became 
worse  as  I  went  on,  and  I  longed  to  turn  back;  but  the 
fact  that  I  had  been  told  I  could  not  go  to  the  top  urged 
me  on.  Now  I  passed  beyond  the  last  of  the  woodland 
and  was  amid  a  waste  of  broken  blocks  of  stone  par- 
tially hidden  by  snow.  Sometimes,  too,  there  was  snow 
in  my  path,  which  made  the  footing  slippery  and  greatly 
aggravated  my  troubles.  I  would  totter  on  a  few  steps 
and  then  stop,  gasping  and  exhausted.  If  I  sat  down 
I  felt  as  though  I  never  wanted  to  get  up.  The  sky  was 
increasingly  cloudy,  and  once  or  twice  I  was  enveloped 
in  a  filmy  snowsquall.  But  in  spite  of  the  difficulties  I 
at  length  reached  the  top.  In  utter  weariness  I  crouched 
down  near  the  low,  stone  summit  house,  and  looked  off 
on  the  wide  mystery  of  mountains  and  prairie,  warmed 
in  places  by  the  sunshine,  and  in  other  places  blue  with 
the  cold  cloud  shadows. 

I  did  not  care  to  loiter.  It  was  five  o'clock,  night  was 
near,  and  I  had  that  long  descent  to  make.  After  a  few 
minutes  I  rose  lamely  and  started,  and  at  first  the  change 
from  climbing  was  a  relief.  I  went  along  with  hasty 
strides,  digging  my  heels  into  the  snow,  and  was  re- 
joiced over  my  progress.  But  the  air  was  becoming 
decidedly  chilly,  the  wind  swept  unhindered  across  the 
bare  slopes,  and  my  hands  grew  stiff  and  numb.  Sev- 
eral times  I  had  to  pause  and  warm  them,  and  affairs 
did  not  improve  until  I  reached  the  timber  line.  Then 


Around  Pike's  Peak  123 

the  route  was  less  exposed  and  the  air  not  so  keen.  My 
steps  were  again  lagging  now,  and  I  had  to  pause  fre- 
quently to  give  my  aching  muscles  a  little  respite,  and  to 
ease  my  toes,  which  rebelled  at  the  incessant  cramming 
into  the  tips  of  my  shoes.  The  evening  gloom  was  by 
this  time  so  dense  that  I  was  constrained  to  step  care- 
fully, lest  I  should  plunge  down  into  some  unexpected 
depth.  Nor  could  I  help  recalling  that  among  the  deni- 
zens of  the  mountains  were  certain  wild  animals  whom 
it  might  not  be  pleasant  to  meet.  Finally  I  was  en- 
couraged by  the  sight  of  lights  in  the  hollow  below,  and 
yet  I  was  not  quite  certain  but  that  these  might  be  in 
the  infernal  regions,  I  had  descended  so  long.  When  I 
dragged  myself  into  the  village  it  was  with  a  vow  that 
I  would  never  make  such  a  climb  again  for  the  rest  of 
my  days. 

The  vicinity  of  the  Peak  is  famous  as  a  summer 
resort,  and  most  of  the  mountain  climbers  go  up  in 
warm  weather.  Pedestrians  ordinarily  start  in  the 
evening,  for  during  the  day,  the  heat  in  the  narrow 
chasm  which  the  route  at  first  follows,  and  the  glare  of 
the  sun  on  the  rocks  make  walking  almost  out  of  the 
question.  Most  of  those  who  start  do  not  realize  what 
they  are  undertaking.  In  the  clear  Colorado  air  the 
mountain  top  looks  much  nearer  than  it  really  is,  and 
the  walker  begins  his  climb  with  brisk  cheerfulness; 
but  by  the  time  he  attains  his  goal  he  is  ready  to  swear 
that  the  mountain  is  ten  miles  high.  The  warmth  in  the 


124   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

valley  is  uncomfortable;  and  yet  at  the  summit  the 
thermometer  goes  down  nearly  to  zero  every  night.  So 
each  climber  carries  a  blanket  and  a  supply  of  coats 
and  sweaters.  A  crowd  starts  out  each  evening.  They 
are  all  happy  and  friendly,  and  the  various  groups 
will  be  stopping  here  and  there  along  the  way  to  build 
fires  and  make  coffee. 

"Everything  goes  pretty  well,"  said  one  informant, 
"till  you  get  to  the  timber  line.  Just  beyond  is  what  is 
called  Windy  Point,  where  a  breeze  is  always  blowing, 
and  it  is  so  cold  you  are  chilled  right  through,  no  matter 
how  much  clothing  you  put  on.  Lots  of  people,  when 
they  get  that  far,  hunt  up  a  spot  where  they  can  escape 
from  the  gale,  and  then  make  a  fire,  loaf  a  while,  and  go 
back  down.  Those  that  keep  on  wrap  up  as  warm  as 
they  can,  and  as  they  walk  along  they  think  at  every 
curve  they'll  see  the  house  at  the  top,  and  when  they 
find  still  another  lonely  stretch  ahead  they  sigh,  'Oh, 
my!'  and  stand  and  rest  while  they  look  mournfully  up 
the  long  steep  climb.  The  first  part  of  the  way  every- 
one is  jolly  and  talkative,  but  the  last  part  they're  all 
sour  and  sad.  They  go  up  to  see  the  sun  rise,  but  they're 
apt  to  be  too  tired  to  really  enjoy  the  sight.  The  first 
thing  they  do  when  they  get  to  the  top  is  to  go  into  the 
summit  house;  for  it's  as  cold  as  the  dickins  outside. 
Some  think  they're  freezin'  to  death,  and  hug  close  up  to 
the  stove.  That  invariably  makes  'em  sick,  while  if  they 
warm  up  gradually  they're  all  right.  When  I  was  there 


Around  Pike's  Peak  125 

last  and  they  began  to  call,  'Hurry  and  go  out — the 
sun  is  coming  up;'  one  sick  fellow  said:  'Oh,  goodness! 
everything  else  has  come  up  already,  and  I'm  going  to 
stay  where  I  am.'  Of  course,  if  the  sky  is  perfectly 
clear,  the  sun  just  rises,  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it;  but 
if  there  are  clouds  the  sight  is  really  grand." 

The  authentic  history  of  the  mountain  dates  from 
November  13,  1806,  when  Major  Zebulon  Pike,  leading 
a  small  exploring  party  of  United  States  soldiers,  sighted 
the  white  crest  from  the  far  east.  It  required  ten  days 
more  to  reach  the  base,  and  after  vigorous  attempts  to 
scale  the  mountain  Pike  abandoned  the  project  with 
the  declaration  that:  "No  human  being  could  ascend  to 
its  pinnacle." 

The  mountain  gave  Pike,  and  the  other  pathfinders 
and  pioneers  who  followed  in  his  footsteps,  the  first 
glad  signal  that  there  were  limits  to  the  dreary  waste  of 
plain.  It  is  an  outlying  sentinel  of  the  Rockies,  and  no 
other  peak  of  these  mountains  equals  it  in  fame  or  can 
rival  it  as  a  continental  landmark.  Considering  its 
height  one  would  expect  it  to  be  heavily  snow-capped, 
but  there  is  not  enough  moisture  in  the  atmosphere  to 
make  much  precipitation.  The  snow  gathers  in  perma- 
nent drifts  in  the  ravines,  yet  the  white  mantle  as  a 
whole  is  usually  rather  scanty  and  tattered. 

The  first  permanent  settlers  of  the  Colorado  moun- 
tain region  came  in  1858.  They  were  attracted  by  the 
reports  of  California  emigrants  that  gold  had  been 


126   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

found  in  the  sands  of  Cherry  Creek  near  the  present 
Denver.  One  of  the  men  who  came  at  that  time  told 
me  the  story  of  his  experiences.  "We  had  our  prairie 
schooners,"  said  he,  "  drawn  by  from  two  to  eight  yoke 
of  oxen,  and  we  were  three  months  on  the  way  after 
leaving  the  Missouri  River.  It  was  slow,  tedious  travel- 
ling. I  suppose  we  saw  more  buffaloes  on  that  trip  than 
there  was  cattle  in  all  the  world.  Some  days  the  plains 
around  would  be  black  with  them  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach,  and  when  we  turned  our  cattle  out  to  graze  we'd 
have  to  stand  guard  to  keep  the  buffaloes  from  stamped- 
ing them.  The  creatures  continued  plentiful  for  more 
than  a  dozen  years  longer,  and  I've  known  engineers  on 
the  railroad  to  stop  their  trains  to  let  a  herd  go  past. 
They  used  to  start  from  northern  Texas  in  the  spring 
and  feed  along  to  the  Canada  line.  Then  in  the  fall 
they'd  drift  back.  But  where  one  buffalo  fed  in  those 
days  we  now  raise  a  good  beef  animal  that  provides  us 
with  meat  worth  twenty  times  as  much  as  that  of  a 
buffalo.  People  would  shoot  the  buffaloes  for  sport 
from  the  railroad  trains,  and  their  carcasses  were  strewn 
everywhere  along  the  tracks.  Hunters  killed  a  great 
many  for  meat  or  hides,  and  people  came  from  all 
over  the  world,  especially  from  England,  simply  to  see 
how  large  a  number  they  could  kill.  There'd  be  a  party 
of  English  lords,  perhaps,  each  man  wanting  to  kill 
more  than  the  others,  and  they'd  shoot  maybe  a  thou- 
sand a  day  and  keep  up  the  slaughter  for  a  month.  The 


Working  on  the  road 


Around  Pike's  Peak  127 

entire  plains  were  covered  with  hunting  parties,  and  the 
decomposition  of  the  carcasses  poisoned  the  air.  There 
was  nothing  very  thrilling  in  the  sport.  It  was  about 
the  same  as  to  ride  up  beside  a  herd  of  cattle  and  go 
popping  away. 

"Of  course  many  buffaloes  were  also  killed  by  the 
Indians.  They  had  their  annual  hunts  to  lay  in  a  supply 
of  jerked  meat;  but  they  were  out  strictly  for  victuals, 
and  when  that  want  .was  supplied  they  quit,  so  their 
hunting  alone  had  no  appreciable  effect  in  diminishing 
the  great  herds.  They  looked  on  it  as  a  task  similar  to 
what  farm  work  is  to  us.  It  seems  to  be  only  the  civi- 
lized white  men  who  kill  for  pleasure;  and  the  ex- 
termination of  the  buffaloes  was  one  of  the  Indians' 
greatest  grievances  against  us.  After  the  plains  were 
clear  of  them  the  fertilizer  companies  had  the  bones 
gathered,  and  there'd  be  piles  as  big  as  a  house  waiting 
at  the  stations  to  be  shipped.  While  the  animals  were 
plenty  everyone  all  over  the  United  States  who  owned  a 
team  had  one  or  more  buffalo  robes,  and  you  could  get 
a  fairly  good  one  for  a  dollar  and  a  half,  and  a  really 
magnificent  one  for  three  dollars. 

"  We  brought  grub  to  last  for  a  year.  If  we  failed  to 
find  gold  in  that  time  we  intended  to  go  back;  and  no 
matter  how  lucky  we  were  we  didn't  want  to  stay  per- 
manently in  the  country.  We  thought  it  was  only  fit 
for  Indians.  My  idea  was  that  we  could  go  into  a  can- 
yon and  find  the  pure  gold  sand  which  we  would  shovel 


128    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

into  our  wagons  and  then  turn  back  East.  I  didn't 
expect  I'd  got  to  work  hard.  We  prospected  with  pans, 
and  when  things  looked  promising  we'd  make  sluices 
and  rockers.  At  several  places  we  laid  out  town  sites. 
Somebody  started  a  town  named  Auralia,  and  then  a 
rival  town  was  planned  close  by  which  we  called  Denver 
City.  It  was  the  most  desolate  spot  on  earth,  pretty 
near,  and  we  were  afraid  the  name  was  about  all  there'd 
ever  be  to  the  place,  and  in  order  to  boost  it  as  much  as 
we  could  we  put  'City'  on  the  end.  I  owned  more  town 
lots  there  than  any  other  man,  but  I  sold  out  within  a 
few  months.  We  didn't  seem  to  light  on  the  valuable 
gold  deposits  we  hoped  to  find,  and  I  became  a  kind  of 
town  speculator.  Carpentering  was  my  trade,  and  as 
soon  as  I  heard  of  a  new  town  site  being  laid  out  I'd 
rush  there,  build  a  cabin  for  myself,  and  get  contracts 
to  build  others. 

"Those  early  cabins  were  just  hovels  with  walls  of 
logs,  and  the  cracks  chinked  with  small  sticks  and  mud. 
The  roofs  were  made  of  poles  slanting  down  from  the 
peak  to  the  eaves  and  covered  with  grass  and  dirt.  For 
the  doors  we'd  split  logs  and  hew  'em  down  to  rough 
boards,  bore  holes  and  use  wooden  pins  to  fasten  the 
boards  together.  The  hinges  were  of  wood  or  rawhide. 
We  had  no  glass,  and  the  window  openings  would  be 
closed  with  an  old  sack.  I  got  paid  for  my  work,  but 
most  of  the  towns  I  was  interested  in  played  out. 


Around  Pike's  Peak  129 

"Nearly  all  of  the  people  who  came  that  first  season 
or  two  were  a  good  deal  disgusted  over  the  scarcity  of 
gold.  A  party  met  me  one  day  and  asked:  'Well,  how 
long  you  been  here  ?' 

"  *  I  come  a  year  ago,'  I  says. 

( '  If  you  are  one  of  the  fellers  that's  helped  get  up 
this  Pike's  Peak  excitement,'  they  said,  'I  guess  we'll 
have  to  hang  you.' 

"  They  were  joking,  but  there  was  a  feeling  that  they'd 
been  fooled,  and  they  called  the  gold  attraction  that 
brought  'em,  'the  Pike's  Peak  humbug.' 

"  Some  arrived  here  with  nothing  to  eat.  We  couldn't 
let  'em  starve,  and  we'd  divide  with  'em;  so  they  fared 
just  as  well  as  any  of  us.  We  could  always  get  plenty 
of  game,  but  flour,  coffee  and  sugar  were  a  dollar  a 
pound.  If  food  got  scarce  with  us  we'd  usually  rustle 
around  and  swap  some  town  lots  or  mining  claims  for 
it.  One  man  settled  down  near  Denver  and  made  a 
fortune  raising  potatoes.  He  was  known  as  'Potato 
Clark.'  For  one  while  I  was  sick  with  the  scurvy  from 
eating  nothing  but  bacon  and  hard-tack  and  poor  bread, 
and  I  went  to  Potato  Clark's  to  stay  where  I  could  get 
cured  by  eating  fresh  vegetables.  He  probably  raised 
twenty  acres  of  potatoes  that  year,  and  I  figured  he  got 
nine  hundred  bushels  to  the  acre.  When  he  dug  'em  they 
lay  so  thick  they  more  than  covered  the  ground.  Eating 
raw  potatoes  and  onions  drove  out  the  scurvy,  and  I 
went  back  to  the  mountains. 


130   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

"Early  in  1859  the  first  big  gold  find  was  made  by  a 
friend  of  mine  named  Gregory.  He  had  been  about 
the  poorest  man  in  the  country  until  then,  and  he  was 
satisfied  to  sell  out  for  twenty  thousand  dollars  and  go 
back  to  his  home  in  Georgia.  That  claim  probably 
couldn't  be  bought  for  a  million  dollars  today,  after 
being  worked  allthe  years  since.  Prospectors  soon  began 
to  come  in  crowds  from  the  East,  and  generally  they  had 
painted  on  the  wagon  cover,  'Pike's  Peak  or  Bust.' 
They  didn't  need  to  bust  on  account  of  any  serious 
danger  to  be  encountered  until  1864,  when  an  Indian 
war  broke  out.  The  government  sent  an  expedition 
against  the  savages,  and  I  was  one  of  the  soldiers.  We 
knew  they'd  got  a  camp  down  on  Sand  Creek,  and  we 
travelled  three  days  and  two  nights  to  surprise  'em.  It 
was  about  dawn  when  we  got  there,  and  we  rushed  in 
and  killed  some  fifteen  hundred  men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren. Hardly  a  one  got  away  alive. 

"When  Colorado  Springs  was  started  in  1871  I  joined 
in  the  enterprise,  and  that  same  year  two  of  us  climbed 
Pike's  Peak.  We  went  over  much  the  same  ground 
people  do  today,  only  then  it  was  a  pathless  wilderness. 
There  were  lots  of  fallen  trees  to  climb  over,  and  stretches 
of  swamp  to  toil  through.  Late  in  the  day  we  got  to  the 
timber  line,  wrapped  up  in  a  blanket,  and  lay  down. 
The  next  morning  we  went  on,  but  every  little  while 
we'd  stop  exhausted,  breath  gone  and  hearts  working 
like  fire-pumps.  I  suppose  the  view  from  the  top  may 


Around  Pike's  Peak  131 

give  pleasure  to  some  people  who  make  the  climb — as 
for  me,  I  was  so  terribly  fatigued  I  didn't  care  about 
anything  except  to  return.  That  was  comparatively 
easy,  but  the  trip  as  a  whole  was  the  hardest  task  I  ever 
undertook  in  my  life,  and  I  was  lame  for  a  month.  I 
never  could  see  much  fun  in  climbing,  anyway;  and 
yet  there  are  people  over  at  Manitou  who  take  their 
Alpinstocks  and  go  rambling  up  and  down  the  steep 
hills  every  day,  and  claim  they  enjoy  it. 

"I  was  attracted  by  this  region  from  the  start.  The 
bright  sunny  weather  that  prevailed  just  suited  me,  and 
if  we  had  rain  there  was  no  mud,  for  the  water  was  at 
once  absorbed  by  the  porous  soil.  The  mountains  also 
were  an  agreeable  novelty  compared  with  the  country 
I  was  used  to  in  the  East.  Back  in  my  native  state  of 
Indiana  the  climate  was  as  wretched  as  could  be,  the 
air  was  raw  and  damp,  and  there'd  be  a  month  at  a 
time,  almost,  when  you  didn't  cast  a  shadow,  and  there 
wasn't  a  hill  in  the  state  that  could  be  seen  at  a  distance 
of  ten  miles.  The  foundation  of  Colorado  Springs' 
prosperity  is  its  reputation  as  a  resort  for  health  and 
pleasure  seekers.  Otherwise,  not  enough  natural 
resources  exist  within  twenty  miles  to  support  a  town  of 
five  hundred  people." 

Among  the  scenic  attractions  of  the  neighborhood, 
the  most  widely  known,  aside  from  Pike's  Peak,  is 
"The  Garden  of  the  Gods."  This  overspreads  two  or 
three  miles  of  rough  hills,  and  the  growths  for  which 


132    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

the  gods  are  responsible  and  which  lend  the  Garden  dis- 
tinction, consist  of  a  great  variety  of  fantastic  pillars  and 
ridges  of  rock,  mostly  of  red  sandstone,  but  with  an 
occasional  gray  upthrust  of  gypsum.  Several  of  the 
pinnacled  and  grottoed  ridges  are  of  very  impressive 
size,  the  highest  over  three  hundred  feet;  and  in  the 
lofty  crannies  numerous  doves  and  swift-winged  swal- 
lows have  their  nests.  Down  below,  the  prairie  larks 
sing,  and  the  robins  hop  about  the  ground,  and  you  see 
an  occasional  magpie.  But  to  me  the  greatest  pleasure 
I  enjoyed  in  the  Garden  was  the  view  I  had  thence  of 
the  brotherhood  of  giant  mountains  clustering  about 
the  hoary  Pike's  Peak. 

To  see  the  Peak  in  another  aspect,  and  to  get  ac- 
quainted with  life  of  a  different  sort  from  that  at  its 
eastern  base,  I  journeyed  to  Cripple  Creek,  forty-six 
miles  distant,  high  among  the  rugged  ridges.  The  rail- 
road followed  up  canyons,  and  clung  along  the  slopes, 
progressing  by  long  curves  so  that  in  places  we  almost 
doubled  on  our  course.  Much  of  the  time  we  were  in  a 
thin  woodland  of  pines  or  aspens.  The  fires  had  run 
over  a  large  portion  of  the  heights,  yet  the  timber  on  the 
burnt  ground  was  not  wholly  ruined.  In  this  dry 
climate  decay  is  slow.  A  tree  killed  by  the  fire  and  left 
standing  till  it  is  thoroughly  dry  continues  sound  for 
tens  of  years.  No  doubt  trees  killed  thus  half  a  century 
ago  are  now  being  hauled  from  the  forest  to  be  used  as 
lumber. 


Around  Pike's  Peak  133 

Cripple  Creek  is  a  city  of  six  or  eight  thousand  people 
in  a  wide  mountain  hollow.  Not  a  tree  grows  along  the 
steep,  stony,  rectangular  streets;  and  the  brick  blocks 
of  the  business  center,  and  the  cottages  and  shacks  that 
serve  for  dwellings  are  equally  unshadowed.  The  en- 
vironing hills  are  scarcely  less  bare,  and  they  shut  out 
of  sight  the  mountains  that  rise  in  imposing  array  at  no 
great  distance.  The  other  towns  in  the  group  that  make 
up  this  world-famous  mining  camp  are  most  of  them 
similarly  situated  in  neighboring  hollows  within  a  radius 
of  half  a  dozen  miles.  Usually  the  vicinity  of  the  houses 
is  strewn  with  tin  cans  and  rubbish,  while  there  often 
loom  close  at  hand  the  towering  dumps  of  broken  rock 
from  the  mines.  The  inhabitants  delve  for  gold.  They 
have  no  thought  for  beauty.  The  dwellings  are  as  a 
rule  only  one  story  high,  and  some  have  walls  of  logs. 
Serpentine  paths  and  roadways  wind  up  and  down  the 
hills,  and  lines  of  railway  cut  many  a  furrow,  one  above 
the  other  in  the  steep  slopes.  It  is  said  that  there  is  a 
frost  at  Cripple  Creek  every  week  in  the  year;  but  this 
is  an  exaggeration.  In  summer  the  grass  grows  green 
on  the  mountain  sides,  furnishing  excellent  grazing  for 
the  cattle,  and  those  who  choose  can  start  gardens  and 
raise  a  few  vegetables. 

The  first  house  in  Cripple  Creek  was  built  in  1872  by 
a  family  of  herders.  The  land  was  then  unsurveyed, 
and  they  were  simply  squatters  who  owned  only  the 
improvements  they  put  on  the  ground.  These  improve- 


134    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

ments  consisted  of  the  house  and  a  few  outbuildings, 
all  of  logs.  They  had  fifteen  hundred  cattle,  which 
ranged  over  a  territory  about  eight  miles  long  by  four 
broad.  I  asked  a  member  of  the  family  whom  I  met, 
how  the  place  got  its  name. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "soon  after  we  came  here,  my 
brother  fell  off  the  house  and  got  pretty  badly  mashed 
up.  A  little  later,  the  horse  that  a  cowboy  who  worked 
for  us  was  riding  r'ared  up  and  keeled  over  backward 
breaking  the  fellow's  leg.  Then  my  father  one  day  run 
across  a  buffalo  calf  in  with  the  cows,  and  he  was  going 
to  shoot  the  creature,  but  as  he  was  drawing  his  pistol 
he  in  some  way  discharged  it  and  maimed  his  hand. 
These  accidents  led  the  cowboys  to  call  the  little  stream 
in  the  hollow,  on  the  banks  of  which  we  lived,  Cripple 
Creek.  We  stayed  only  three  years  and  then  disposed 
of  most  of  our  cattle,  sold  our  buildings,  and  moved  to 
another  valley. 

"One  of  the  boys  in  the  family  that  bought  us  out  got 
the  idea  that  this  was  a  gold-bearing  country,  and  he 
was  always  prospecting.  That  stirred  up  some  interest, 
and  there  was  more  or  less  searching  for  gold  right  along 
afterward.  But  the  old-fashioned  prospectors  who 
looked  around  here  condemned  the  region.  The  rock 
was  porphery  and  granite,  and  gold  had  never  been 
found  in  such  rock;  so  the  pioneer  discoveries  were 
made  by  tenderfoots  who  had  no  theories.  Nothing 
important  was  brought  to  light  till  1890,  and  that  made 


Around  Pike's  Peak  135 

no  excitement,  for  the  experts  continued  to  be  pessimis- 
tic, and  even  after  we  were  shipping  two  or  three  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars  worth  of  ore  a  month  they  still 
claimed  that  only  a  few  chance  veins  existed,  which 
would  soon  play  out.  But  after  a  while  the  public  got 
interested,  and  people  were  jumping  in  here  from  far 
and  near.  They  staked  the  whole  country.  All  you 
had  to  do  to  secure  a  claim  was  to  blaze  a  tree  or  set  up 
some  sort  of  mark  and  run  your  lines  fifteen  hundred 
feet  from  there  in  one  direction  and  three  hundred  in 
the  other.  Naturally  the  claims  often  overlapped  each 
other.  The  first  comer  had  the  best  rights,  but  there 
was  lots  of  litigation.  To  hold  your  claim  you  had  to 
sink  a  shaft  ten  feet  deep,  or  in  some  way  do  a  hundred 
dollars  worth  of  work  on  it  each  year.  You  must  also 
have  discovered  a  vein  of  ore,  but  as  any  sort  of  a  vein 
was  considered  an  ore  vein  until  it  was  proved  otherwise 
that  was  no  hindrance.  Actual  mining  was  not  carried 
on  very  vigorously  for  several  years.  Most  claim  owners 
seemed  content  to  incorporate  companies  for  a  million 
or  two  and  make  money  selling  stock.  It  was  simply  a 
boost  business,  and  often  the  claims  were  good  for  noth- 
ing anyway. 

"The  gold  occurs  here  in  streaks  running  from  below 
upward.  There  seemed  to  have  been  a  kind  of  golden 
blowout,  and  in  one  spot  you'll  find  a  vein  of  gold  and 
a  little  beyond  not  a  trace.  The  area  of  payrock  appears 
jo  be  limited  to  a  patch  about  three  miles  across;  but 


136    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

the  country  is  full  of  prospect  holes  for  ten  miles  around. 
That  means  a  tremendous  amount  of  wasted  labor. 
Probably  there  was  never  a  more  profitable  gold  camp 
than  this,  and  yet  if  we  get  on  the  average  one  dollar  for 
ten  expended  we  think  we're  doing  well.  However,  the 
lucky  fellows  become  immensely  rich,  and  it's  just  a 
legitimate  gamble. 

"The  city  here  grew  very  fast  when  it  got  started, 
until  by  and  by  we  had  a  fire  that  nearly  destroyed  it. 
The  buildings  were  all  of  wood,  but  the  trouble  was 
with  our  volunteer  fire  department.  Everyone  was 
telling  everyone  else  what  to  do,  and  no  one  was  doing 
anything  effective.  The  fire  started  in  a  shack  with  a 
corrugated  iron  roof,  and  the  boys  wasted  their  energy 
playing  the  water  on  that  red  hot  iron  and  hearing  it 
sizz,  instead  of  getting  inside  to  business.  So  the  fire 
spread  and  wiped  out  a  big  piece  of  the  town." 

Another  blow  to  the  prosperity  of  the  region  was  the 
great  strike  of  1904.  I  frequently  heard  of  this,  and 
differing  opinions  were  expressed,  but  no  one  seemed 
to  take  much  pride  in  any  of  the  events  connected  with 
it.  One  miner  who  talked  with  me  very  frankly  said  the 
relations  of  the  employers  and  their  help  had  from  the 
first  been  far  from  satisfactory.  "We  had  a  rough,  wild 
crowd  here,"  said  he, "and  some  of  'em  thought  nothing 
of  killing  a  man  and  then  throwing  him  down  an  old  shaft 
where  he'd  never  be  heard  from.  There  was  lots  of 
high-grading  going  on — that  is,  there  were  fellows  steal- 


Sorting  over  the  old  mine  Jumps 


Around  Pike's  Peak  137 

ing  high-grade  ore.  They'd  go  down  abandoned  work- 
ings and  hike  around  through  into  a  mine  where  the  ore 
was  valuable.  The  mines  were  worked  in  two  shifts, 
and  they'd  plan  to  do  their  stealing  when  the  only  per- 
son on  duty  was  the  watchman.  He  couldn't  keep 
track  of  the  whole  mine,  and  the  high-graders  were  able 
to  load  up  with  ore  and  get  away.  The  regular  mine 
workers  were  high-graders,  too.  They'd  hide  the  ore 
in  their  clothing,  and  even  though  the  mine  owners  knew 
of  the  stealing  they  didn't  dare  say  a  word  for  fear  the 
miners  would  strike. 

"  By  and  by  a  worthless,  no-account  walloper  was 
fired  from  an  ore  mill  at  Colorado  Springs.  The  union 
here  took  up  the  matter,  and  when  the  mill  owners 
wouldn't  reinstate  the  man,  the  miners  all  quit  work. 
Non-union  men  were  brought  in,  and  a  lot  of  'em  were 
dynamited  at  the  Independence  railway  station.  Then 
the  soldiers  came  and  there  were  guns  flashing  around 
everywhere,  and  the  women  didn't  dare  put  their  noses 
out  of  their  doors.  Some  men  were  deported  and  others 
went  away  of  their  own  accord,  and  the  union,  after 
monkeying  around  a  long  time,  gave  up  the  fight.  At 
present  there  are  more  workers  than  work,  so  the  em- 
ployers have  things  their  own  way,  and  this  is  a  regular 
slave  camp." 

The  old  boom  days  when  everyone  had  money,  and 
speculation  and  ferment  were  omnipresent  will  prob- 
ably never  return.  This  is  not  due  entirely  to  the  strike, 


138    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

but  would  have  come  in  the  natural  course  of  events. 
The  mines  produce  more  than  ever  before,  but  they 
have  installed  the  latest  labor-saving  devices,  and  often 
several  have  combined  to  work  their  holdings  in  com- 
mon. As  a  result  one  man  perhaps  accomplishes  as 
much  as  five  did  a  few  years  ago,  the  inhabitants  have 
decreased,  and  the  towns  have  a  rusty,  battered  look 
that  is  far  from  cheerful.  The  town  that  has  suffered 
most  seems  to  be  Altman,  which  is  on  one  of  the  bleak- 
est hilltops.  But  to  compensate  for  its  broken-windowed 
dilapidation  it  enjoys  a  noble  outlook  on  the  mountains. 
In  one  direction  is  the  Great  Divide,  a  long  range  of 
blue-based,  snowy  pinnacles,  and  in  the  other,  near  at 
hand,  is  Pike's  Peak  lifting  its  white  crown  far  into  the 
blue.  This  lonely  sentinel,  indeed,  dominates  the  re- 
gion for  a  hundred  miles  around. 

NOTE. — Pike's  Peak  is  the  best  known  height  in  the  Rockies.  Its 
name  is  familiar  everywhere;  and  this  fact  alone  is  a  sufficient  reason 
for  desiring  to  see  it  with  one's  own  eyes.  Partly  because  of  this  at- 
traction, and  partly  because  of  other  favors  bestowed  by  nature,  the 
section  of  country  immediately  to  the  east  of  the  mountain  is  one  of 
the  most  notable  pleasure  resorts  of  the  continent.  Colorado  Springs, 
the  chief  town  of  the  region,  is  in  its  way  very  nearly  ideal,  with  fine 
buildings,  broad  tree-lined  streets  and  pleasant  parks,  and  a  beautiful 
view  of  the  great  snow-capped  Peak  and  its  companion  heights.  Close 
by  is  the  Garden  of  the  Gods,  and  the  picturesque  Cheyenne  Canyon. 
At  the  base  of  the  Peak  is  the  village  of  Manitou  in  a  graceful  vale 
encompassed  by  cathedral  hills  and  with  the  added  attraction  of 
sparkling,  health-giving  mineral  springs.  Many  delightful  rambles 
and  carriage  drives  are  possible,  and  the  Peak  invites  you  to  climb,  if 
you  wish  to  do  something  very  strenuous. 


Around  Pike's  Peak  139 

East  of  the  foothills  are  the  plains;  but  these  are  too  forbiddingly 
arid  to  possess  much  interest.  If  you  would  see  agricultural  Colorado 
at  its  best,  journey  north  to  Greeley  or  some  other  place  in  the  valley  of 
the  South  Platte.  There  irrigation  and  industry  have  made  a  wonder- 
fully thriving  farming  region. 

For  an  attraction  of  another  sort,  go  from  Colorado  Springs  to 
Cripple  Creek  by  the  railroad  that  winds  up  over  the  wild  chaos  of 
mountains.  On  the  grim  uplands  you  find  men  searching  for  gold 
and  tearing  up  the  earth  and  burying  the  land  beneath  vast  dumps  of 
broken  stone.  But  as  a  typical  Rocky  Mountain  mining  camp,  easily 
accessible  and  with  world-wide  fame  it  is  well  worth  visiting. 


VIII 

IN    THE    HEART   OF   THE    ROCKIES 

THE  mountains  that  form  the  backbone  of  the  con- 
tinent are  not  a  single  series  of  ridges,  or  a  closely 
huddled  line  of  peaks;  but  there  are  many  half- 
related  ranges  and  groups  of  rough  upheavals  that  are 
widely  separated,  or  that  have  among  them  frequent 
great  pastoral  valleys.  Some  of  the  valleys  are  fully 
fifty  miles  long  and  nearly  as  wide,  and  are  open  graz- 
ing and  farm  land.  Whether  large  or  small,  a  mountain 
valley  of  this  type  is  called  "a  park;"  and  it  was  in  one 
of  the  lesser  parks  that  I  made  my  first  stop,  after  pass- 
ing through  the  wild  and  impressive  canyon  of  the  Royal 
Gorge  that  gashes  the  eastern  buttresses  of  the  moun- 
tains. The  gentle  levels  of  the  vale,  its  trees  feathering 
into  new  leafage  along  the  streams,  its  cultivated  fields 
and  blossoming  orchards  were  delightful — the  more  so, 
no  doubt,  because  they  were  rimmed  about  by  dark, 
wooded  heights,  and  were  guarded  at  a  somewhat  re- 
moter distance  by  the  white  peaks  of  the  Great  Divide. 
At  least  half  a  dozen  snow-clad  summits  were  in  sight, 
each  over  fourteen  thousand  feet  high. 


In  the  Heart  of  the  Rockies  141 

The  winter  was  not  entirely  vanquished  yet,  and  the 
mountains  were  often  obscured  by  drifting  snowsqualls 
that  sometimes  descended  into  the  valley  and  sprinkled 
the  earth  with  quick-melting  flakes.  To  these  frosty 
flurries  the  farmers  paid  no  attention,  but  went  on  put- 
ting in  their  crops  and  hoeing  their  gardens.  Some  of 
the  local  dwellers  complained  that  the  seasons  were  too 
short,  but  as  a  whole  they  were  contented  and  even 
enthusiastic.  "This  is  the  best  place  the  sun  shines  on," 
declared  one  man;  "and  we  have  more  bright  days 
than  anywhere  else  on  earth." 

He  had  left  an  Eastern  city  to  seek  health,  and  had 
found  it  in  the  high,  dry  air  and  out-door  life  he  led  in 
this  Rocky  Mountain  park.  His  wife  worked  with  him 
in  the  fields,  and  they  were  happy  and  prosperous  and 
had  no  desire  to  become  city  dwellers  again. 

"  But  we  have  to  irrigate  to  raise  any  crops,"  said  he, 
"and  that  ain't  no  such  easy  job  as  a  good  many  people 
back  East  imagine.  They  seem  to  think  all  you've  got 
to  do  is  to  turn  a  faucet  to  make  it  rain  all  over  your 
farm,  and  that  then  you  can  go  and  lay  down.  But  we 
have  to  plough  and  harrow,  and  we  have  to  fight  the 
weeds,  and  there's  lots  of  digging  necessary  to  make 
water  ditches  and  keep  'em  in  order." 

Then,  changing  the  subject,  he  added :  "  You  ought  to 
climb  that  mountain  over  to  the  southward.  It's  the 
highest  one  around  here,  except  those  with  the  snow  on 
'em,  and  you  can  see  the  whole  world  at  one  sweep  from 
the  top  of  it." 


142    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

However,  I  preferred  to  keep  to  the  valley.  Its  chief 
highway  was  known  as  the  old  Leadville  Trail,  and  in 
the  early  days  before  the  railroad  was  built  this  had  been 
a  very  populous  thoroughfare.  At  one  point  was  an 
ancient  "roadhouse"  or  tavern,  now  verging  on  dilapi- 
dation, but  impressive  by  reason  of  its  size  and  its 
connection  with  a  stirring  and  romantic  past.  In  the 
gold  excitement  days  it  was  always  crowded,  and  many 
travellers  paid  fifty  cents  each  for  the  privilege  of  sleep- 
ing in  their  own  blankets  on  the  piazza. 

One  man,  whose  parents  came  to  the  vicinity  at  that 
period  and  settled  on  a  cattle  ranch,  told  me  something 
of  his  experiences.  "I  was  a  boy  then,"  said  he,  "and 
I  used  to  sell  buttermilk  to  the  Leadville  freighters. 
They'd  have  their  white  prairie  schooners  with  two  or 
three  spans  of  horses  or  mules  attached,  and  generally 
went  in  bands,  several  together,  and  camped  nights  by 
the  roadside. 

"We  often  saw  wild  horses  up  in  the  hills,  and  the 
fellows  would  build  a  corral  with  wing  fences  in  order 
to  capture  'em.  As  soon  as  there  was  a  good  chance,  the 
boys  would  circle  around  the  broncos  and  work  'em 
down  to  the  fences  and  into  the  corral.  When  they  were 
out  running  loose  they  looked  like  nice  horses;  but  in 
actual  use  they  weren't  very  desirable  in  most  ways. 
Yet  they  were  so  nimble  and  tough  they  couldn't  be 
beat  for  the  cattle  business.  The  worst  thing  about  'em 
was  that  you'd  got  to  break  'em  over  again  every  time 


In  the  Heart  of  the  Rockies  143 

you  rode  'em.  My  father  bought  one  for  me  when  I 
was  about  fifteen  years  old.  I  knew  more  then  than  I 
ever  shall  again,  and  I  picked  her  out  myself.  'There's 
a  dandy,'  I  says. 

"The  man  we  bought  her  of  claimed  she  was  good 
and  gentle  and  all  that.  So  I  expected  she'd  be  quiet 
as  a  lamb;  but,  whatever  her  temper,  I  wore  big  cowboy 
spurs  and  was  equal  to  anything.  As  it  happened,  she 
proved  to  be  a  Virginia  rail  fence  bucker.  She  didn't 
buck  straight  ahead,  but  would  give  side  jumps,  first 
this  way,  then  that,  and  stiff-legged  too.  I  hadn't  been 
on  her  back  half  a  minute  before  I  was  thrown  off.  As 
soon  as  I  could  pick  myself  up  I  mounted  once  more, 
and  the  bronco  got  ready  to  go  after  me.  Up  she  went 
into  the  air,  and  when  I  was  comin'  down  I  met  her 
goin'  up  on  the  next  trip.  But  I  hung  on  till  the  horse 
tossed  her  head  back  and  hit  me  in  the  nose.  That  took 
all  the  ginger  out  of  me,  and  I  was  ready  to  quit.  I 
owned  her  for  a  number  of  years,  but  I  never  could  tell 
when  I  got  on  her  which  way  the  hurricane  was  goin'  to 
strike  me.  Once  she  carried  me  straight  across  an 
eighty  acre  field  as  tight  as  she  could  go  and  tried  to 
jump  a  wire  fence.  Her  heels  caught  in  the  wires,  and 
she  would  have  been  badly  hurt  only  she  got  so  beauti- 
fully tangled  up  she  couldn't  struggle. 

"The  worst  proposition  I  ever  had  was  a  mule,  and 
there's  nothing  tougher  or  meaner  on  earth  unless  it's 
two  mules.  The  first  time  I  got  a-hold  of  her  we  were 


144  Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

hauling  dry  peas  out  of  a  field,  and  you  know  how 
those'll  rattle.  I  hitched  her  to  the  tail  end  of  the  wagon 
rack,  and  she  had  to  come  right  along  whether  she  liked 
the  rattling  or  not.  But  after  a  while  she  made  a  plunge 
sideways  that  cut  the  rope  against  the  edge  of  the  rack, 
and  she  made  off  for  the  range.  I  wore  out  one  horse 
and  almost  wore  out  another  before  I  caught  her.  From 
time  to  time  afterward  I  tried  breaking  her,  but  I 
couldn't  get  her  under  control.  You  might  just  as  well 
ride  on  a  steam  engine.  She'd  run  about  two  hundred 
yards  and  stop,  and  if  you  weren't  on  the  alert  you'd  go 
over  her  head.  Finally  I  traded  her  off,  and  she  changed 
hands  pretty  rapidly  for  the  future.  At  last  she  got 
away  with  a  saddle  on  her  and  led  the  owner  such  a 
chase  that  he  shot  her  in  order  to  get  the  saddle. 

"We  had  a  range  of  about  a  thousand  acres,  and 
kept  something  like  a  hundred  cattle — let  'em  run.  It 
was  rather  discouraging  there  were  so  many  losses. 
During  the  winter  the  cattle  became  lean  and  weak,  and 
in  the  spring  they'd  get  into  mudholes  and  not  have  the 
strength  to  wade  out.  Some  were  stolen,  and  others 
were  destroyed  by  the  railway  trains.  You  see  the 
track  melted  free  of  snow  sooner  than  most  of  the  land 
around.  So  at  night  the  cattle  would  lie  down  on  it  to 
keep  warm  and  dry;  and  if  they  chose  a  spot  that  the 
train  come  on  suddenly  from  around  a  curve  they'd  be 
run  over. 


r         '       - 


-.-    ^*      -    : 
.- 


The  farmer  and  bis  helpmate 


In  the  Heart  of  the  Rockies  145 

"We  raised  alfalfa  and  cut  considerable  wire  grass  on 
the  low  ground,  and  we  could  have  fed  the  cattle  some 
in  the  bad  weather  of  the  cold  months.  But  that  wasn't 
economy.  It  made  the  cattle  expect  to  be  fed  right 
along,  and  they'd  hang  around  and  bawl  instead  of 
getting  out  on  the  range  to  rustle  for  themselves.  The 
horses  were  able  to  stand  exposure  better  than  the  cattle. 
They  could  wade  through  the  snow  easier,  and  go  much 
farther  for  food,  and  they'd  come  down  from  the  moun- 
tains in  the  spring  in  pretty  good  shape  and  as  shaggy 
as  sheep. 

"Our  hardest  work  was  in  June  and  September 
when  we  had  our  roundups.  The  whole  country  was 
laid  off  in  roundup  districts,  and  the  ranchers  would 
combine  to  do  the  work.  We'd  have  a  grub  wagon 
along;  and  one  rancher  would  furnish  the  team,  and 
another  the  wagon,  and  we'd  all  chip  in  to  supply  the  food. 
Each  day  we'd  go  over  ten  or  fifteen  miles  of  country 
and  drive  the  cattle  to  some  central  point  agreed  on; 
and  I  tell  you  it  ain't  what  it's  cracked  up  to  be — this 
keeping  in  the  saddle  hour  after  hour  from  early  morn- 
ing till  the  middle  of  the  afternoon.  The  June  roundup 
was  for  calves,  and  each  day  when  the  drive  was  fin- 
ished we'd  grab  a  little  to  eat  and  go  to  branding.  We'd 
have  a  lot  of  branding  irons  in  the  fire,  and  there'd  per- 
haps be  a  dozen  fellows,  and  we  didn't  stop  till  all  the 
calves  in  the  drive  were  branded  even  if  it  took  us  till 
after  dark.  Each  calf  was  branded  the  same  as  the 


146    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

cow  it  was  running  with.  The  September  roundup  was 
to  pick  out  the  creatures  we  wanted  to  sell  for  beef.  It's 
astonishing  how  widely  scattered  even  a  little  herd  gets; 
for  a  long  storm  will  drift  'em  horribly.  I'd  have  to  be 
out  at  least  a  week  to  cover  the  ground  where  our  cattle 
were  likely  to  wander. 

"Around  our  home  were  a  few  acres  that  we  irrigated. 
We  had  a  very  good  water  right;  for  we'd  filed  on  it 
early.  You  were  allowed  to  file  on  as  much  water  as 
you  could  reasonably  use  on  your  land.  But  it  was 
first  come,  first  served,  and  in  a  dry  time  the  later  ar- 
rivals suffered.  The  water  right  is  the  most  important 
item  in  the  value  of  a  farm  here,  and  has  often  been  a 
cause  of  bloodshed.  For  instance,  my  wife's  father, 
who  was  a  quiet,  law-abiding  man  in  every  way,  had 
some  dispute  with  a  neighbor  over  their  water  claims 
and  was  shot  at  from  a  fence  near  which  he  was  digging 
a  ditch.  The  bullet  went  through  his  blouse.  With 
only  a  shovel  in  his  hands  he  ran  and  drove  off  the  fel- 
low who'd  done  the  shooting. 

"A  night  or  two  later  his  house  was  set  on  fire,  and 
when  he  came  hurrying  out  to  see  what  he  could  do  to 
save  his  property  he  was  shot  dead.  His  wife  dragged 
him  beyond  reach  of  the  flames,  extinguished  the  fire, 
and  rode  oft  to  get  help.  A  vigilance  committee  started 
for  the  home  of  the  murderer,  but  they  got  a  little  too 
hilarious  on  the  way,  and  were  so  slow,  someone  had  time 
to  give  the  fellow  the  wink,  and  he  escaped.  We  had 


In  the  Heart  of  the  Rockies  147 

some  rough  doings  in  those  days,  and  every  old-timer 
used  to  keep  a  revolver  hanging  on  his  bedpost." 

Now,  however,  life  in  the  valley  is  scarcely  less  peace- 
ful than  nature  itself,  and  I  left  this  pleasant  region 
doubting  whether  I  would  find  another  among  the 
mountains  equally  attractive.  Certainly  Leadville, 
my  next  stopping-place,  was  not  such  a  spot.  When  I 
arrived  in  the  late  evening  the  snow  was  steadily  sifting 
down  from  a  sky  where,  behind  a  thin  haze  of  cloud, 
the  full  moon  shone  dimly. 

"We  have  snow  every  month  in  the  year,"  commented 
a  native.  "This  is  a  funny  country.  Once  it  snowed 
like  sixty  on  the  Fourth  of  July." 

Leadville  lies  at  an  elevation  of  over  ten  thousand 
feet,  and  is  sometimes  spoken  of  as  "the  town  above 
the  clouds."  Winter  seemed  to  have  the  whole  region 
in  its  chill  grip  on  my  first  morning  there,  and  a  frosty 
wind  blew  from  the  big  bleak  hills  and  frozen  moun- 
tains roundabout.  But  the  snow  which  covered  the 
ground  melted  rapidly,  and  by  noon  the  town  emerged 
from  its  white  robes  in  all  its  usual  dinginess.  The 
larger  part  of  the  place  is  a  treeless  huddle  of  frail  cot- 
tages and  shanties,  many  of  which  are  dilapidated  and 
vacant.  However,  it  is  only  fair  to  say  that  much  of  the 
business  section  has  an  air  of  well-built  permanence, 
and  there  are  certain  residence  streets,  where  the  homes, 
in  size,  architecture,  and  surroundings,  are  suggestive  of 
comfort  and  refinement. 


148    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

A  peculiarity  of  the  mines  of  the  district  is  the  great 
variety  of  metals  they  produce.  These  include  silver, 
gold,  zinc,  lead,  iron,  and  copper.  But  it  was  gold  that 
first  attracted  miners  to  the  region.  For  several  years 
they  delved  in  the  gulches,  and  washed  the  silt  in  their 
pans  and  cradles  and  troughs  without  getting  any 
phenomenal  returns.  The  excitement  began  in  the 
spring  of  1878  when  ore  remarkably  rich  in  lead  and 
silver  was  discovered.  "Then,"  as  an  old  miner  ex- 
plained to  me,  "people  began  pilin'  in  here  from  all 
parts  of  the  world.  They  came  in  wagons  and  on  horse- 
back and  in  the  stages,  and  by  1881  we  had  a  city  of 
thirty-seven  thousand  inhabitants.  This  used  to  be  a 
pretty  lively  country,  but  it's  dead  now. 

"My  pardner  and  I  were  among  the  early  comers, 
and  we  located  in  California  Gulch  and  put  up  a  tent 
to  live  in.  But  the  tent  was  just  temporary,  and  in  the 
course  of  a  few  weeks  we  built  a  log  cabin.  Later  I  fixed 
up  a  shanty  of  slabs  right  in  the  sagebrush  where  the  heart 
of  the  city  now  is,  and  I  fenced  it  in,  too.  Pretty  soon 
afterward  I  went  off  to  work  in  another  camp  for  a  few 
months,  and  when  I  came  back,  cabin,  fence  and  all 
were  gone.  I  knew  where  they  were,  but  it  meant  gun 
play  to  get  possession.  So  I  said,  'Never  mind.' 

"The  place  was  crowded.  Why,  Lord!  you  could 
hardly  get  through  the  streets  there  were  so  many  people 
and  teams,  and  the  noise  never  stopped,  day  or  night. 
Little  sawmills  were  stuck  up  here  and  there,  but  they 


f 


In  the  Heart  of  the  Rockies  149 

couldn't  get  out  lumber  fast  enough,  and  men  would 
take  slabs  or  anything  else  to  build  their  shanties.  Often 
they  made  the  sides  of  boards  and  the  roof  of  canvas 
and  got  along  that  way.  Every  man  brought  blankets, 
and  quite  a  few  just  wrapped  up  and  slept  under  trees, 
or  in  the  saloons.  The  saloons  were  open  all  night,  and 
there'd  be  fellows  lying  around  on  the  sawdust-strewn 
floor  so  thick  you  could  hardly  step  between  them.  In 
the  morning  they'd  roll  up  their  blankets  and  go  about 
their  business.  There  was  no  charge.  It  was  a  sort  of 
advertisement  that  brought  the  saloon  custom.  A 
gambling  den  was  always  run  in  connection  with  the 
saloon,  and  there  were  plenty  of  dives  ready  to  rob  any- 
one they  could  get  hold  of.  It  was  a  rough  place,  and 
the  mortality  was  blamed  bad,  too.  But  in  three  or 
four  years  they  cleaned  up  some,  and  if  the  police  found 
a  man  with  a  gun  they  run  him  in.  After  that  there 
was  more  reason  for  being  scairt  back  in  the  Eastern 
cities  than  there  was  here. 

"The  men  living  in  tents  usually  cooked  their  meals 
outside  over  an  open  fire,  but  you'd  find  a  sheet-iron 
stove  in  most  of  the  cabins.  A  frying-pan  and  pot  were 
about  the  extent  of  our  cooking  utensils.  The  meat  we 
ate  was  nearly  all  bacon  and  ham,  and  navy  beans  were 
a  great  standby.  We  didn't  use  much  butter  or  milk, 
and  it  was  darn  seldom  we  got  any  potatoes. 

"Wherever  a  new  mining  camp  was  started,  the 
lawyers  and  doctors  came  in  with  the  swim.  There'd 


150    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

be  about  a  couple  each  of  lawyers  and  snide  doctors, 
even  if  there  wa'n't  more'n  fifty  men  in  the  camp.  The 
ministers  wouldn't  arrive  till  later;  but  it  was  a  good 
business  proposition  for  them,  too.  Money  was  as  free 
as  water,  and  when  a  church  was  to  be  built,  or  a  bell 
bought,  the  minister  would  make  the  rounds  of  the 
gambling  hells  and  other  places  to  get  contributions, 
and  the  fellows  would  all  dish  out.  Even  if  they  never 
went  to  church  they'd  give  just  the  same.  The  Irish 
were  church-goers,  but  the  balance  of  the  gang — no. 
Perhaps  everyone  would  turn  out  to  a  revival  and  throw 
in  a  little  boodle — from  one  to  five  dollars  apiece. 
That's  as  near,  though,  as  they  came  to  bein'  religious; 
and  yet  I've  never  seen  a  crowd  like  there  is  in  this 
town  when  it  comes  to  givin'  every  religion  a  show, 
even  if  they  don't  care  about  any  of  'em.  One  night  a 
drunken  fellow  went  to  interfere  with  a  Salvation  Army 
service.  As  often  as  they'd  start  to  sing  or  preach  he'd 
butt  in.  But  the  crowd  soon  put  a  stop  to  his  nonsense. 
They  kicked  him  all  over  the  street,  and  then  he  was 
thrown  into  jail. 

"While  the  mining  excitement  was  at  its  height  it 
was  queer  how  eager  people  were  to  invest.  They  had 
an  idea,  if  they  could  get  a  claim  most  anywhere  within 
a  few  miles  of  where  the  big  finds  were  made,  their  future 
fortune  was  sure.  'Can't  you  put  me  onto  something  ?' 
a  stranger  would  say  to  you;  and  if  you  were  at  all 
acquainted  with  the  region  you'd  go  and  show  him  a 


In  the  Heart  of  the  Rockies  151 

spot  that  hadn't  been  taken  up.  In  an  hour's  time 
you'd  very  likely  get  for  the  assistance  rendered  two 
or  three  hundred  dollars.  Lots  of  these  investors  would 
sink  a  shaft  fifty  feet  or  so,  and  then  go  away  and  never 
be  heard  of  afterward. 

"I  used  to  have  a  third  interest  in  one  of  the  best 
claims  here.  If  I  hadn't  sold  out  I'd  have  been  a  mil- 
lionaire. My  pardners  were  Charlie  Jones  and  a  man 
named  Robinson.  By  and  by  Robinson  wanted  to  buy 
us  out,  and  about  that  time  Charlie  went  on  a  tear,  and 
one  morning  when  he'd  been  drinking  all  night  we 
found  him  dead  behind  the  stove.  Then  Robinson 
went  right  off  East  to  Charlie's  relatives  and  bought  out 
his  interest  for  seventeen  hundred  dollars.  He  wanted 
to  bulldoze  me  into  selling  at  his  price,  too. 

"We  had  a  gang  of  lawyers  here  who  were  always 
ready  to  take  up  your  quarrels.  Til  win  for  you,' 
they'd  say,  and  encourage  you  to  spend  your  money, 
even  if  you  had  no  chance  at  all.  I  engaged  one  of 
'em,  but  before  the  case  came  up  for  trial  and  showed 
whether  he  was  any  good,  Robinson  settled  with  me  for 
thirty  thousand  dollars. 

"A  while  later  he  had  some  trouble  with  the  super- 
intendent at  the  mine  and  turned  him  off  and  stationed 
guards  with  orders  to  let  no  one  they  didn't  know  ap- 
proach the  property.  But  one  evening  he  walked  up  to 
the  mine  himself,  and  the  guard  didn't  recognize  him  in 
the  darkness.  Robinson  paid  no  attention  when  he  was 


152   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

ordered  to  stop,  and  the  guard  banged  away  and  wounded 
him  so  badly  that  he  only  lived  a  day  or  two  afterward. 
But  Robinson  never  blamed  the  guard,  who  he  said  had 
simply  done  his  duty,  and  he  willed  him  a  thousand 
dollars.  However,  the  guard  worried  considerable  over 
what  had  happened,  and  though  he  was  naturally  sober 
and  industrious  he  took  to  drink  and  was  good  for 
nothing  afterward. 

"Well,  I  had  all  that  money  I  spoke  of,  and  I  went  to 
Denver  and  bought  a  home.  I  was  goin'  to  quit  min- 
ing, but  the  first  thing  I  knew  I  was  in  deeper  than  ever, 
and  the  money  slipped  away.  That's  how  it  is  in  min- 
ing— easy  made  and  easy  gone.  Some  of  my  old  friends 
made  millions,  and  yet  died  poor.  You  see  they'd  get 
to  speculating,  and  everybody  was  after  'em  when  they 
had  money.  'We've  got  a  deal  on,'  the  fellows  would 
say,  'and  will  give  you  a  chance;'  and  most  every  deal 
made  a  hole  in  the  fortune.  There  was  Finnerty  had 
three  hundred  thousand  dollars  and  lost  it  horse-racing; 
and  there  was  John  Morrisey,  Diamond  Joe's  pardner. 
He  got  to  be  very  rich  though  he  couldn't  read  or  write. 
Why,  he  carried  an  expensive  watch,  but  was  too  ig- 
norant to  tell  the  time  of  day  by  it.  You  ask  him  the 
time,  and  he'd  take  out  his  watch  sayin',  'I  do'  know- 
about  so  and  so,'  making  as  good  a  guess  as  he  could. 
Then  turning  it  toward  you  he'd  say,  'and  to  show  you 
I  ain't  lyin',  look  yourself.' 


//  placer  miner  in  a  Leadville  gulch 


In  the  Heart  of  the  Rockies  153 

"Once  the  priest  asked  him  to  help  buy  a  chandelier 
for  the  church.  'A  chandelier' — says  John,  'sure,  that 
there  church  ought  to  have  one.  Put  me  down  for  a 
hundred  dollars.  But  who  are  you  goin'  to  get  to 
play  it  ? ' 

"He  was  prosperous  until  some  dirty  trick  of  his 
made  Diamond  Joe  drop  him.  After  that  he  went  to 
the  dogs.  His  friends  deserted  him,  his  wife  got  a 
divorce,  and  he  died  a  pauper;  but  we  saw  that  he  had 
a  nice  burial. 

"That  shows  the  way  things  have  gone  at  the  mines 
here;  and  the  town  has  had  its  ups  and  downs,  too. 
You  may  think  it's  destined  to  be  wiped  off  the  map 
presently,  but  I  tell  you  it'll  be  a  camp  after  we're  all 
dead  and  gone." 

Probably  nothing  like  the  spectacular  boom  of  the 
early  days  will  be  known  at  Leadville  again;  but  it 
will  be  a  long,  long  time  before  the  region  ceases  to  be  a 
wealth-producer. 

Still  another  place  that  I  visited  among  the  tangled 
heights  near  the  crest  of  the  continent  was  a  hamlet 
some  fifty  miles  farther  west,  deep  in  a  wild  hollow. 
Two  or  three  streams  met  just  there,  and  they  were 
crowded  so  closely  by  the  steep  ridges  that  rose  around 
as  to  afford  the  village  only  the  slenderest  foothold.  If 
you  followed  the  streams  back  into  the  hills  you  were 
sometimes  in  forest,  sometimes  amid  beetling  cliffs, 
while  the  water  hastened  down  the  ravine  with  many  a 


154   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

foaming  leap  and  tumultuous  rapid.  Here  and  there 
you  came  across  a  mine  or  a  little  sawmill,  and  at  rare 
intervals  occurred  marshy  meadows  and  possibly  a  rude 
ranch  with  a  few  scanty  fields.  In  favorable  places  you 
saw  great  white  peaks  peering  over  the  near  slopes. 
The  most  notable  of  these  is  the  Mountain  of  the  Holy 
Cross;  but  the  emblem  which  gives  the  peak  its  name 
does  not  appear  till  nearly  midsummer.  Then  the  snow 
has  melted  from  the  high  cliffs  and  is  only  retained  in 
two  deep  ravines  that  form  a  cross.  This  continues  in 
view  until  the  late  fall  when  the  snows  again  take  posses- 
sion of  the  entire  crest. 

The  situation  of  the  village  was  quite  delightful,  but 
its  huddled  double  line  of  cheap  angular  wooden  build- 
ings had  not  the  least  touch  of  grace.  Luckily  the  mines 
were  beyond  view.  Most  of  them  were  down  the  main 
canyon  clinging  along  the  face  of  a  vast  precipice. 

One  day,  after  a  long  tramp  among  the  hills,  I  sat 
down  in  the  village  drug  store.  A  young  woman  was  in 
charge,  and  she  was  as  ready  to  impart  information  as 
to  serve  customers.  Trade  was  not  very  brisk.  A  man 
came  in  to  buy  a  bottle  of  patent  medicine,  a  housewife 
invested  in  a  box  of  rat  poison,  and  a  young  fellow  se- 
lected a  dime's  worth  of  candy  to  which  he  treated  the 
girl  who  sold  it.  Afterward  the  candy-buyer  lit  a  cigaret 
and  backed  up  to  the  stove  with  his  hands  behind  him 
as  if  to  warm  himself.  Thereupon  the  girl  chaffed  him, 
for  there  was  no  fire  in  the  stove. 


A  chat  on  the  highway 


In  the  Heart  of  the  Rockies  155 

"But  I  don't  blame  you,  Charlie,"  she  continued. 
"A  person  gets  used  to  thinkin'  it's  cold  here  in  this 
place.  Heavens!  what  winters  we  have!  It's  nothing 
at  all  to  get  up  and  find  the  thermometer  twenty  and 
thirty  below  zero.  The  snow  lasts  from  November  to 
April.  But  the  grass  and  things  grow  fast  when  they 
once  start.  There's  flowers  blossoming  before  you 
know  it.  Oh  my  goodness!  the  clusters  of  anemones 
come  right  out  of  the  snow,  almost.  In  another  month 
the  hills  where  the  sheep  and  cattle  graze  will  be  just 
covered  with  columbine." 

"Where  were  you  last  evening?"  asked  Charlie. 

"The  moon  shone,"  said  she,  "and  it  was  such  a 
pretty  night  that  I  went  for  a  walk.  But  we  certainly 
are  hemmed  in  here.  You  can't  go  far  without  getting 
into  the  wilderness.  There's  only  the  one  street,  and  at 
each  end  it  runs  smack  up  against  a  mountain.  I  don't 
know  where  we  would  put  another  building,  and  I'm 
not  sure  we  can  keep  all  that  we  have  now.  Lately  the 
mountain  seems  to  be  comin'  down  and  crowding  our 
church  out  into  the  street.  That's  a  funny  thing  to 
happen,  and  I've  had  more  laughs  about  it  than  a  few. 

"I  believe  there's  about  two  hundred  people  in  the 
place  when  they're  all  at  home,  but  half  of 'em  are  gen- 
erally gone;  and  yet  we  can  support  three  saloons. 
Yes,  and  we  have  two  weekly  newspapers,  but  one  of 
'em  is  so  weakly  we're  never  sure  there'll  be  another 
issue.  Then,  too,  there's  our  hack.  The  railroad  sta- 
tion had  to  be  put  farther  down  the  crick  because  of 


156    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

lack  of  room  in  the  village,  and  as  soon  as  you  get  off 
the  train  they  ask  if  you  want  a  hack.  But  when  you 
look  around — gee!  you  find  only  an  express  wagon. 
We  have  an  opera  house,  and  sometimes  a  show  com- 
pany drops  off  here.  That's  happened  only  once  though 
in  the  last  six  months.  Of  course  pretty  near  everyone 
went — you  bet  they  did!  I  wished  I  hadn't  afterward. 
It  was  something  awful — the  rottenest  show  I  ever  saw 
in  my  life.  Saturday  night,  a  week  ago,  we  had  an  ice- 
cream social  at  the  church — fifteen  cents  a  dish,  and  a 
dance  at  the  opera  house  afterward.  The  entertainment 
kept  going  till  half-past  one,  and  I  thought  they  must 
be  pretty  good  church  members  to  eat  and  dance  over 
into  Sunday. 

"We  dance  quite  a  little  in  the  winter — anything  for 
a  pastime!  Often  there's  as  many  as  twenty-five  couples. 
We  use  the  old  schoolhouse.  It  isn't  good  for  much  else 
since  they've  put  up  the  new  one.  An  organ  and  violin 
furnish  music,  and  we  have  three  big  lamps  for  light. 
Once  in  a  while  a  four-horse  load  of  young  people  drive 
up  Turkey  Crick  to  a  dance  at  Clifftop.  It's  claimed 
they've  got  a  better  floor  there  than  here;  but  that's 
never  induced  me  to  go.  Gee  whiz!  the  road  don't  look 
any  too  good  in  the  daytime,  and  of  course  it's  icy  and 
slippery,  and  we  might  slide  off  down  into  the  canyon." 

These  elucidations  made  it  evident  that  though  a 
stranger  might  fancy  the  village  to  be  rather  oppres- 
sively secluded,  its  life  was  not  without  piquancy  and 


In  the  Heart  of  the  Rockies  157 

a  somewhat  varied  enjoyment.    As  for  its  surroundings, 
their  wild  charm  could  hardly  be  excelled. 

NOTE. — The  most  picturesque  passage  through  the  mountains  on 
any  of  our  several  great  transcontinental  railroad  routes  is  that  of  the 
Denver  and  Rio  Grande.  It  is  by  way  of  the  magnificent  Royal  Gorge 
whose  towering  cliffs  form  one  of  the  most  impressive  of  canyons. 
This  is  the  gateway  to  western  Colorado — a  broken  region  of  tremen- 
dous mountain  ranges  intermitting  with  many  a  sheltered  pastoral 
valley.  Any  of  these  valleys  will  amply  repay  a  visit,  but  I  would 
mention  Salida  and  Buena  Vista  as  places  that  especially  appealed 
to  me. 

By  turning  a  little  aside  from  the  main  route  one  can  visit  Leadville 
in  its  lofty  eyrie.  The  chief  attraction  of  the  town  is  its  reputation  as 
a  mining  camp,  though  the  surrounding  region  is  not  without  con- 
siderable scenic  beauty. 

In  the  late  summer  and  early  autumn  a  pause  at  Red  Cliff,  about 
fifty  miles  west  of  Leadville,  is  to  be  recommended.  The  little  village 
itself  with  its  Swiss-like  environment  is  quite  delightful,  and  the  Moun- 
tain of  the  Holy  Cross  is  at  that  season  in  all  its  glory.  The  mountain 
can  be  glimpsed  from  the  railroad,  but  a  really  intimate  acquaintance 
with  it  necessitates  a  somewhat  arduous  trip  of  a  dozen  miles  back 
into  the  woods  from  Red  Cliff. 

Still  farther  west  is  the  well-known  health  resort  of  Glenwood 
Springs  in  a  beautiful  valley  surrounded  by  forest-clad  hills.  Another 
place  worthy  of  special  notice  is  Grand  Junction,  in  the  vicinity  of 
which  is  some  of  the  most  productive  fruit  country  to  be  found  in  the 
entire  Rocky  Mountain  region. 


IX 

LIFE    IN    A   MORMON    VILLAGE 

IT  was  an  old-fashioned  little  place — one  of  the  early 
settlements  near  the  shores  of  the  Great  Salt  Lake. 
Close  behind  rose  a  steep,  lofty  mountain  ridge. 
Tall  Lombardy  poplars  lined  the  streets  and  stood  in 
stately  rows  along  the  borders  of  the  fields,  while  the 
houses  nestled  amid  apple,  cherry,  peach,  and  other 
fruit  trees.  The  dwellings  were  apt  to  be  small,  but 
their  vernal  setting  of  trees  and  vines  made  them  quite 
idyllic.  Irrigation  ditches  networked  the  whole  region, 
and  the  life-giving  water  flowed  in  swift  streams  on  one 
side  or  the  other  of  every  street.  In  the  open  country 
roundabout  were  broad  acres  of  wheat  and  alfalfa,  and 
luscious  pastures. 

During  my  stay  in  the  village  I  lodged  in  one  of  the 
Mormon  homes.  It  was  on  a  grassy  lane  a  little  off  the 
chief  street,  and  was  snugly  fenced  from  the  encroach- 
ment of  the  cows  that  grazed  in  the  lane  for  a  time 
both  morning  and  evening.  The  main  part  of  the  house 
was  of  adobe,  but  there  was  a  newer  portion  of  wood. 
None  of  it  was  over  one  story  high,  and  the  crudity  of 
its  appointments  can  be  judged  by  the  fact,  that  to  wash 


At  the  back  door  of  an  adobe  bouse 


Life  in  a  Mormon  Village  159 

my  hands  and  face  I  had  to  resort  to  the  little  shed 
kitchen,  where  there  was  a  tin  basin  on  a  stand,  and  a 
pail  of  water  on  a  chair.  The  dirty  water  was  thrown 
out  of  the  back  door. 

From  beneath  the  trees  that  shadowed  the  house  I 
could  see  the  Salt  Lake  far  off  across  the  lowlands,  and 
beyond  the  silvery  water  were  lines  of  high  blue  ridges 
crowned  with  snow.  One  morning  I  started  out  to  get 
a  nearer  view  of  the  lake,  and  a  three-mile  walk  across 
the  marshy  lowlands  took  me  to  a  wide  stretch  of  oozy 
beach  that  stopped  my  farther  progress.  I  was  a  little 
disappointed  because  I  wanted  to  taste  the  water.  It 
could  hardly  be  very  palatable,  for  it  is  about  twenty- 
five  per  cent  salt — a  per  cent  only  exceeded  by  the 
Dead  Sea  in  Palestine.  Yet  the  lake  is  not  always 
equally  salty;  for  it  has  periods  of  rising  and  falling  that 
extend  somewhat  regularly  over  a  series  of  years.  Be- 
tween the  lowest  and  the  highest  level  there  is  a  differ- 
ence of  sixteen  feet,  and  the  saltiness  of  the  water  varies 
accordingly.  This  has  been  down  to  eleven  per  cent, 
the  record  for  dilution,  while  the  other  extreme  is  over 
three  times  that  amount.  Salt  from  the  lake,  obtained 
by  evaporation,  is  shipped  away  in  vast  quantities. 

Some  ten  thousand  or  more  years  ago  the  lake  was  a 
magnificent  body  of  fresh  water  the  size  of  Lake  Huron, 
and  its  outlet  was  by  way  of  the  Columbia  River  into  the 
Pacific  Ocean.  Since  that  time  the  climate  has  become 


160    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

arid,  and  the  lake  has  gradually  dried  up  from  over  a 
thousand  feet  deep  to  about  twenty  feet,  and  it  has  less 
than  a  tenth  of  its  original  area. 

The  salt  makes  the  water  very  heavy,  and  the  waves 
roll  with  a  lazy  motion,  but  with  tremendous  force.  A 
person  can  lie  flat  on  his  back  in  the  water,  and  a  third 
of  his  body  will  be  above  the  surface.  There  are  no 
fish  in  the  lake,  and  life  is  confined  to  a  little  shrimp 
about  a  fourth  of  an  inch  long  and  a  small  worm. 
Hundreds  of  the  shrimps  are  found  in  every  bucket 
of  water,  and  in  the  season  the  water  is  milky  with 
the  eggs  of  these  creatures.  Except  at  that  time  the 
water  is  as  clear  as  crystal. 

The  vicinity  by  the  lakeshore  that  I  visited  did  not 
entice  me  to  linger.  It  was  almost  bare  of  trees;  and 
there  were  gulls  flying  about,  and  numerous  snipe,  and 
a  few  heron  and  sandpipers,  whose  lonely  cries  hastened 
my  inclination  to  return  to  the  town. 

The  place  seemed  very  effectively  sheltered  from  rude 
gales  by  its  trees  and  the  lofty  ridge  behind;  and  yet 
my  landlady  said:  "The  east  wind  is  often  a  regular 
hurricane  here  in  the  autumn.  It  takes  roofs  off  and 
blows  barns  to  pieces  and  breaks  down  the  apple  trees; 
and  it  will  just  keep  up  that  way  for  three  or  four  days. 
We  have  storms  other  times,  too.  Only  last  week  it 
snowed  here  like  the  dickins;  and  it's  very  seldom  that 
we  don't  get  a  snowstorm  in  May.  Some  of  the  storms 


Life  in  a  Mormon  Village  161 

seem  fearful  at  the  time,  but  they  don't  do  such  damage 
as  to  prevent  the  people  being  mostly  pretty  prosperous." 

The  family  with  which  I  was  stopping  ordinarily 
consisted  of  Mrs.  Dutton,  my  landlady,  and  two  daugh- 
ters. There  had,  however,  been  a  full  dozen  of  chil- 
dren, and  though  the  others  had  married  and  established 
homes  of  their  own,  some  of  them  were  frequently  drop- 
ping in  to  call,  and  occasionally  might  stay  for  a  meal  or 
spend  the  night.  They  were  a  lively  clan  and  had  a 
breezy  Western  way  of  talking  that  was  characterized 
by  a  good  deal  of  slangy  vigor.  Mrs.  Dutton  herself 
was  a  kind-hearted,  motherly  old  body  to  whom  the 
tumultuous  ebullitions  of  her  progeny  were  at  times 
disturbing,  but  she  was  not  without  energy  and  a  keen 
tongue.  "You're  gettin'  crazier  every  day!"  she  would 
declare,  addressing  her  daughters;  "I'd  have  you  to 
know,  though,  that  I'm  boss  of  this  shebang,  and  I 
won't  be  run  over." 

One  day  a  tramp  came  begging  at  the  kitchen  door, 
and  she  fed  him.  "Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  have  done 
it,"  she  philosophized  afterward,  "but  I  can't  turn  a 
tramp  off  to  save  my  soul.  Brigham  Young  used  to  say: 
'There's  three  kinds  of  poor — the  Lord's  poor,  the 
devil's  poor,  and  the  poor  devils.'  That  is,  the  worthy 
poor,  the  vicious  poor,  and  those  who  are  shiftless  and 
incapable.  He  said  each  class  ought  to  be  treated  dif- 
ferently; and  that  some  of  the  poor  shouldn't  be  helped 


1 62    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

at  all.  But  if  a  man  says  he's  hungry  I  can't  do  any- 
thing only  feed  him,  no  matter  what  he  is." 

While  we  were  talking  two  of  her  grandchildren 
wandered  in,  and  I  asked  her  how  many  she  had  in  all. 
She  hesitated.  "To  tell  you  the  truth,  I've  forgot," 
said  she,  and  began  to  reckon  up — eleven  in  one  family, 
nine  in  another,  five  in  another  and  so  on. 

The  two  children,  a  boy  and  a  girl,  were  quite  small, 
and  presently  the  landlady's  daughter  Dora  took  them 
in  hand  to  tidy  up  their  hair.  She  got  along  all  right 
with  the  boy;  but  there  seemed  to  be  molasses  or  some- 
thing of  the  sort  in  the  little  girl's  flossy  tresses,  and  no 
sooner  was  the  combing  started  than  the  child  doubled 
over  and  began  to  cry.  "Shut  up,  miss!"  said  the 
young  lady.  "Quit  your  bawling!" 

"Don't  cry,  lovey,"  begged  grandma.  "Why  Dora, 
she's  just  a-sobbing — for  goodness  sake!" 

"She's  trying  to  cry,  and  that's  all  there  is  of  it," 
affirmed  Dora.  "Stop  it,  you  little  stink!  If  your 
mother  was  here  she'd  slap  you!" 

At  last  the  process  was  completed  and  the  children 
were  free  to  play.  About  that  time  their  mother  arrived. 
"  Everybody's  always  thought  this  was  a  slow  old  town," 
she  remarked;  "but  it's  coming  out  of  its  kinks  now. 
They're  going  to  get  power  from  a  stream  on  the  moun- 
tain and  light  the  place  with  electricity." 

"Well,  my  gosh!"  exclaimed  Dora,  "that  will  make 
this  place  quite  modern." 


Life  in  a  Mormon  Village  163 

"  I  see  you  are  wearing  one  of  those  new-fashioned 
wide-brimmed  hats,"  said  Mrs.  Dutton. 

"Yes,"  assented  the  newcomer,  whom  the  others 
addressed  as  Angeline,  "everybody  has  to  have  'em 
now;  but  I  tried  this  on  mother,  and  her  small  face 
under  such  a  wide  brim  looked  just  like  a  peanut." 

"Winnie  Snell  is  going  to  be  married  next  week," 
observed  Dora. 

"  I've  expected  that  would  be  the  outcome  all  along," 
said  Angeline.  "  It's  too  bad.  He's  about  the  poorest 
piece  of  humanity  she  could  pick  up.  He  may  be  good 
and  all  that,  but  he's  sickly.  Her  folks  have  kept  up 
the  darndest  row  ever  since  he  began  going  with  her, 
and  they've  tried  their  best  to  keep  'em  apart.  So  of 
course  they  was  bound  to  have  each  other,  and  you 
couldn't  have  pried  'em  apart  with  an  iron  bar.  If  ever 
my  daughter  has  a  beau  that  I  don't  like  I'll  have  him 
in  the  house  to  breakfast,  dinner,  and  supper  and  let  her 
get  so  much  of  his  company  she'll  be  tired  of  him;  but 
the  guy  I  do  want  her  to  have  I'll  just  about  kick  out  of 
the  back  door  to  make  the  match  certain." 

"Winnie  is  a  good  Mormon,"  commented  Mrs.  Dut- 
ton; "but  I  don't  think  the  fellow  is." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Angeline.  "I'm  not  a  good 
Mormon  either,  though  there's  lots  of  elders  and  bishops 
and  other  church  officers  in  our  family.  What  they  tell 
about  the  way  the  Mormon  religion  started  sounds  like 
a  fairy  tale  to  me." 


164   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

"  It's  all  true — every  word  of  it,"  asserted  Mrs.  Dut- 
ton.  "The  things  that  happened  to  Joseph  Smith  are 
just  as  easy  to  believe  as  what  you  read  in  the  Bible. 
You'll  find  the  Bible  says:  'In  the  last  days  the  gospel 
shall  be  revealed.'  That's  what  was  done  through  our 
prophet  Joseph  Smith.  He  began  to  be  troubled  about 
religion  when  he  was  only  a  boy,  and  one  time  in  his 
bedroom  there  come  over  him  such  a  darkness  as  nearly 
strangled  him.  That  was  the  devil.  Afterward  he  was 
surrounded  by  a  great  glory  of  light.  That  was  God; 
and  the  boy  asked  which  of  the  different  religions  was 
right.  God  said  that  none  of  'em  were  right,  but  he 
would  reveal  to  him  the  true  religion  written  on  some 
plates  of  gold  buried  in  a  certain  hill.  Joseph  went  to 
the  hill  and  got  the  plates.  When  he  began  to  preach 
the  new  religion  he  was  persecuted,  and  once  when  the 
mob  was  after  him  he  hid  the  golden  plates  in  a  barrel 
of  beans  to  save  'em  from  destruction.  I  don't  see  any- 
thing about  all  that  but  what  a  person  can  believe  easy 
enough;  and  there's  no  other  religion  I'd  accept  in  the 
place  of  Mormonism." 

Angeline  was  still  unconvinced;  but  she  said  she 
was  going  to  sit  down  sometime  and  read  the  Book  of 
Mormon  through  to  see  what  she  could  make  of  it.  At 
present  she  was  unregenerate  enough  to  have  the  opinion 
that  there  were  "  more  hypocrites  in  the  Mormon  church 
than  out  of  it,"  that  most  intelligent  Mormons  were 
really  as  skeptical  as  she  was,  and  that  business  or 


Mormon   Maidens 


Life  in  a  Mormon  Village  165 

social  motives  were  all  that  kept  them  nominally  faith- 
ful. She  mentioned  polygamy,  which  used  to  be  a  part 
of  the  Mormon  teaching. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Dutton,  "I  didn't  like  that  myself. 
None  of  the  women  did.  If  a  husband  took  more  than 
one  wife  it  always  made  bad  feeling  in  a  family.  He 
was  expected  to  treat  every  wife  alike;  but  I'm  afraid 
that  was  expecting  too  much;  and  even  if  he  succeeded, 
a  woman  didn't  want  to  share  her  man  with  another 
woman." 

"  Brigham  Young  had  eighteen  wives,"  said  Angeline, 
"  and  I  guess  he'd  have  liked  to  have  a  few  more.  There 
was  an  aunt  of  mine  he  saw  and  wanted  to  marry;  but 
though  her  parents  were  good  Mormons,  that  didn't 
suit  'em.  They  kept  her  hid  in  a  cellar  for  two  weeks 
and  then  sent  her  off  to  relatives  in  the  East.  Brigham 
Young  persuaded  father  that  he  ought  to  take  another 
wife  himself;  but  when  he  told  mother,  didn't  she  make 
him  sashay  around!  She  got  him  to  move  to  another 
town." 

"My  husband  never  seemed  to  have  any  inclination 
that  way,"  remarked  Mrs.  Dutton;  "and  I  never 
coaxed  him  to  take  another  wife — that's  a  sure  thing! 
If  he  had  brought  one  home  maybe  I'd  have  acted  like 
the  very  old  deuce  as  so  many  other  women  did.  I'm 
glad  polygamy  is  a  thing  of  the  past." 

The  church  is  the  most  vital  element  in  the  village 
life,  and  I  imagined  I  should  find  the  "  meeting-house  " 


1 66    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

as  they  call  it,  a  rather  conspicuous  building;  but  it 
was  very  plain,  without  spire,  or  dome,  or  bell,  and 
though  close  to  a  chief  thoroughfare,  had  such  narrow 
grounds  and  was  so  hidden  by  a  martial  company  of 
poplars  as  to  be  scarcely  noticeable.  There  were  three 
services  every  Sunday — the  Sunday-school  in  the  morn- 
ing, preaching  for  adults  in  the  afternoon,  and  a  young 
people's  meeting  in  the  evening.  As  all  the  services  are 
lengthy  this  may  seem  rather  strenuous,  yet  the  day  is 
far  from  being  Puritanical.  There  is  much  loitering 
and  visiting,  the  boys  play  ball  and  pitch  quoits,  and 
the  young  men  take  the  girls  to  ride  and  sit  up  with 
them  far  into  the  night. 

The  Sunday  that  I  was  in  the  village  was  pleasant, 
but  cool,  and  at  the  morning  service  the  interior  of  the 
thick-walled  stone  church  was  decidedly  chilly.  At  one 
end  of  the  main  room  where  wre  gathered  for  the  general 
exercises  was  a  platform  of  generous  size  on  which  was  a 
pulpit,  a  desk,  and  a  score  or  so  of  chairs.  In  an  adjoin- 
ing corner  was  a  small  pipe  organ  "and  seats  for  the 
choir.  Rows  of  settees  occupied  most  of  the  floor  space, 
and  in  the  midst  of  them  was  a  tall  stove. 

The  preliminary  exercises  consisted  chiefly  of  sing- 
ing, into  which  the  audience  entered  with  great  hearti- 
ness. The  songs  inculcated  the  love  of  good,  of  nature, 
home  and  country,  but  I  observed  an  occasional  hymn 
in  the  book  used  that  had  an  individuality  peculiar  to 
the  Church  of  the  Latter  Day  Saints.  One  such  ran  thus : 


Life  in  a  Mormon  Village  167 

"  I'll  be  a  little  '  Mormon,'  and  seek  to  know   the  ways 

That  God  has  taught  his  people  in  these  the  latter  days. 

I  know  that  he  has  blessed  me  with  mercies  rich  and  kind, 

And  I  will  strive  to  serve  him  with  all  my  might  and 

mind. 

"  By  sacred  revelation  which  he  to  us  has  given, 
He  tells  us  how  to  follow  the  ancient  saints  to  heav'n. 
Though  I  am  young  and  little,  I,  too,  may  have  forthwith 
To  love  the  precious  gospel  revealed  to  Joseph  Smith. 

"  With  Jesus  for  the  standard  a  sure  and  perfect  guide, 
And  Joseph's  wise  example  what  can  I  need  beside  ? 
I'll  strive  from  ev'ry  evil  to  keep  my  heart  and  tongue, 
I'll  be  a  little  Mormon  and  follow  Brigham  Young." 

Here  also  is  a  verse  from  a  song  which  shows  the  trend 
of  Mormon  teaching  in  the  matter  of  temperance. 

"  That  the  children  may  live  long 
And  be  beautiful  and  strong, 
Tea  and  coffee  and  tobacco  they  despise, 
Drink  no  liquor,  and  they  eat 
But  a  very  little  meat, 
They  are  seeking  to  be  great  and  good  and  wise." 

These  principles  are  not  merely  a  matter  of  juvenile 
sing-song,  but  are  preached  from  the  pulpit  and  incor- 
porated in  the  church  manuals. 

I  was  surprised  to  find  that  the  sacrament  was  cele- 
brated in  Sunday-school;  but  it  seems  this  is  a  part  of 
each  of  the  three  services  every  Sunday.  Water  is  used 
instead  of  wine  and  each  distributor  carries  along  a  tall 
silver  tankard  from  which  to  replenish  the  goblet  that 
passes  from  hand  to  hand.  All  partake,  even  the  little 
children. 


1 68    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

At  length  we  adjourned  in  several  divisions  to  rooms 
at  the  rear  of  the  building  to  consider  the  Sunday-school 
lesson.  The  class  of  adults  which  I  joined  included  a 
number  of  women  who  had  brought  along  their  babies 
and  smaller  children,  and  the  apartment  was  pretty 
well  crowded.  Our  topic  was  "The  Beauties  of  Mother- 
hood," which  was  treated  in  a  characteristic  Mormon 
way  by  emphasizing  the  desirability  of  large  families. 
But  the  remarks  of  those  who  spoke  covered  quite  a 
wide  range  and  were  often  original  and  spirited. 

"Some  women  say  they  don't  want  children,"  com- 
mented a  bent  old  lady  whom  the  villagers  all  knew  as 
Aunt  Mary.  "They're  like  some  men  who  pretend 
they  don't  want  a  wife  because  she'll  be  a  lot  of  trouble, 
but  want  one  just  the  same." 

The  question  was  raised  whether  it  was  better  to  give 
children  toy  animals  like  rabbits  and  bears  for  play- 
things, or  dolls.  "What  do  you  think,  Sister  Watson  ?" 
asked  the  young  man  who  was  our  leader. 

"I  never  approved  of  them  animals,"  Sister  Watson 
responded.  "  It  ain't  natural  to  treat  'em  like  babies  the 
way  the  children  do.  I  believe  in  dolls." 

Others  thought  that  play  with  toy  animals  might 
cultivate  sympathy  with  the  dumb  creatures.  How- 
ever, it  was  agreed  that  dolls  were  necessary  for  the  girls  in 
order  to  cultivate  the  instinct  of  maternity.  It  was  also 
argued  that  the  older  children  should  spend  considerable 
time  taking  care  of  the  babies  in  the  family.  But  one 


Life  in  a  Mormon  Village  169 

woman,  who  rose  to  speak  with  a  baby  in  her  arms  and 
two  other  tots  clinging  to  her  skirts,  said :  "  I  don't  be- 
lieve I  was  seven  years  old  when  I  had  to  begin  to  mind 
a  baby,  and  I  was  kept  to  that  job  for  years.  It  didn't 
seem  as  if  I  had  any  childhood,  and  I  can  tell  you  the 
experience  didn't  make  me  fond  of  babies  either.  The 
farther  away  they  were  the  better  I  liked  it.  So  I  don't 
think  the  children  ought  to  be  tied  too  close  that  way 
if  you  would  have  'em  grow  up  wanting  to  have  babies 
of  their  own." 

In  the  afternoon  I  was  present  at  the  preaching  ser- 
vice. There  was  nothing  to  attract  special  attention  in 
the  way  of  ceremonials  or  ecclesiastical  robing.  Every- 
thing was  simple  and  business-like,  and  I  was  interested 
to  notice  that  the  boy  who  pumped  wind  into  the  organ 
did  his  work  in  plain  sight  and  chewed  gum  in  unison 
with  the  motion  of  the  pump  handle.  Seated  on  the 
platform  were  about  a  dozen  church  officials  and  elders, 
including  the  chief  dignitary  of  the  local  organization, 
known  as  a  bishop.  They  were  no  different  in  dress  or 
manner  from  the  other  men  present.  Down  below,  the 
audience  was  divided  into  two  sections,  with  the  mas- 
culine portion  on  the  left,  and  the  feminine  on  the  right. 
Nearly  all  of  the  latter  removed  their  hats,  which  seemed 
a  comfortable  and  sensible  thing  to  do.  The  few  ex- 
ceptions were  quite  youthful,  and  their  headgear  was 
apparently  for  exhibition  purposes. 


170   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

The  Mormons  do  not  have  a  paid  ministry.  To  re- 
ceive money  for  preaching  seems  to  them  obnoxious. 
Individual  church  members  address  their  fellows  from 
the  pulpit,  and  a  large  proportion,  either  from  natural 
capacity  or  training,  are  able  and  willing  to  speak  thus. 
The  chief  address  which  I  heard  was  given  by  a  stalwart 
big-handed  young  farmer.  It  was  colloquial  in  manner 
and  had  touches  of  humor  that  made  ripples  of  smiles 
run  through  the  audience,  and  at  the  same  time  it 
showed  culture  and  constructive  thought  of  a  high  order. 

When  I  returned  to  my  boarding-place  my  landlady 
enlightened  me  further  as  to  the  ways  of  her  church,  in 
response  to  a  question  of  mine  about  the  tithings. 
"Yes,"  she  said,  "we're  supposed  to  turn  over  a  tenth 
of  all  our  earnings;  but  I  don't  know  anybody  who 
pays  'em  right  up  to  the  very  letter.  There's  no  com- 
pulsion. It's  just  simply  that  if  you  don't  give  the 
church  its  due  you  won't  get  the  highest  glory. 

"  I'm  afraid  we  don't  live  up  to  any  of  the  church 
rules.  For  instance,  one  Sunday  a  month  is  a  fast  day, 
when  everybody  over  eight  years  old  is  expected  to  go 
without  eating  from  sunrise  to  sunset.  The  previous 
night  you  should  take  to  the  bishop's  storehouse  a  dona- 
tion of  flour  and  supplies  equivalent  to  what  you  would 
naturally  save  by  fasting.  But  people  are  getting  so  they 
don't  pay  much  attention  to  the  fast  days.  Once  there 
was  kind  of  a  plague  in  the  place — diphtheria,  I  think  it 
was — and  we  had  special  prayer-meetings  and  fasting 


The  old  settler 


Life  in  a  Mormon  Village  171 

to  get  rid  of  it.  For  twenty-four  hours  I  didn't  touch 
any  food,  and  I  was  pretty  near  paralyzed.  Since  then 
I  don't  fast  any  more. 

"Another  thing — in  the  Mormon  book  of  rules  called 
'The  Word  of  Wisdom'  it  says  you  mustn't  drink  intoxi- 
cating liquor,  or  smoke,  or  use  tea  and  coffee;  but  I 
don't  know  how  I'd  get  through  the  day  if  it  wasn't  for 
my  blessed  coffee.  None  of  those  rules  are  observed  at 
all  strictly.  In  the  matter  of  smoking,  lots  of  the  boys 
puff  their  cigarets  and  pipes;  but  as  they  grow  older 
some  of  them  get  to  have  sense  enough  to  stop.  My 
husband  told  a  neighbor  once  that  his  sons  smoked,  and 
that  man  got  so  hot  he  could  have  knocked  my  husband 
senseless.  'You're  a  blame  liar!'  he  said,  and  he 
wouldn't  believe  a  word  of  it.  But  later  he  found  out 
to  his  sorrow  that  it  was  no  more  than  the  truth,  you 
betcher! 

"What  troubles  me  is  that  things  don't  seem  to  be 
improvin'  any.  I  know  Mormons  who  drink,  and  that's 
preached  against  almost  every  Sunday.  Some  think 
the  church  is  too  strict,  but  I  guess  it  allows  ways  enough 
for  people  to  enjoy  themselves.  It  approves  of  dancing 
and  of  having  a  good  time  generally.  Yes,  our  young 
people  are  terrible  dancers.  There's  a  dance  once  a 
week  at  the  public  hall  in  the  winter,  and  they  go  every 
evening  to  dance  at  a  pleasure  resort  near  here  during 
the  summer. 


172    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

"Below  that  pleasure  resort,  in  the  creek,  we  have 
our  baptizings.  We  baptize  by  immersion.  That's 
the  only  proper  way,  and  the  Bible  says  so.  I'm  not 
claiming  that  everyone  will  go  to  hell  that  ain't  immersed 
and  that  don't  believe  as  we  do,  but  I  know  the  good 
Mormons  will  have  the  front  seats  in  heaven.  The 
children  are  all  baptized  when  they  are  eight  years  old, 
and  then  they  are  members  of  the  church  and  behave 
themselves,  or  are  supposed  to.  If  an  unbaptized  per- 
son above  that  age  dies,  some  member  of  the  family  is 
usually  baptized  afterward  in  the  dead  person's  place. 
Children  younger  than  that  who  die  will  be  all  right,  we 
think,  even  if  they  haven't  been  baptized.  Oh,  sure 
they  will — they're  too  young  to  sin  with  full  knowledge 
and  responsibility. 

"The  young  men  as  theygrowup  and  show  themselves 
to  be  steady  and  faithful  are  made  church  elders.  There's 
one  or  two  elders  in  every  family,  and  those  that  are 
good  for  anything  are  at  some  time  in  their  life — and 
perhaps  more  than  once — appointed  to  go  on  a  mission. 
Mormon  missionaries  are  preaching  our  religion  and 
making  converts  in  every  state  of  the  Union,  and  all 
over  the  world.  Some  of  the  most  successful  of  them 
are  young  men  who  don't  understand  any  of  the  prin- 
ciples of  the  gospel;  but  they  have  a  gift  for  speaking. 
They  and  their  home  people  pay  most  of  their  expenses; 
so  we  don't  send  the  very  poor.  Sometimes  a  concert  is 
got  up  when  a  man  is  going  off,  and  forty  or  fifty  dollars 


Life  in  a  Mormon  Village  173 

raised  for  him;  and  the  church  pays  his  return  fare. 
Once  in  a  while  a  missionary  will  travel  in  the  Bible 
fashion  without  purse  or  scrip,  but  that's  not  usual. 
It  isn't  the  habit  to  take  up  any  collections  from  their 
audiences.  All  that  they  ask  is  to  have  people  listen  to 
'em.  They're  away  two  or  three  years;  and  in  most  of 
the  foreign  countries  a  good  deal  of  that  time  is  spent 
learning  the  language.  The  expense  is  quite  a  handi- 
cap to  some  families;  but  I  never  knew  anyone  to 
refuse  to  go.  We  had  to  sell  twenty  acres  of  our  best 
land  to  keep  my  husband  on  mission.  There's  always 
several  from  this  village  away  scattered  over  the  earth. 
Some  die  while  they're  gone,  and  others  get  diseases  of 
which  they  die  soon  after  they  return. 

"The  Mormons  have  always  been  ready  to  sacrifice 
a  good  deal  for  their  religion.  See  how  they  suffered 
coming  here  when  they  were  driven  out  from  Illinois. 
We  had  a  pretty  rough  time  twenty  years  afterward, 
when  I  came.  There  was  enough  to  eat,  and  the  cap- 
tain of  the  company  knowed  just  how  far  our  ox-teams 
must  go  each  day  to  reach  water;  but  we  never  felt 
safe.  The  Indians  were  often  in  sight  on  their  ponies, 
and  they  carried  off  one  of  our  women.  She  was  small 
and  slim,  and  she'd  got  tired  and  wore  out.  As  she 
walked  along  she  hung  behind  the  train,  and  her  hus- 
band went  back  and  told  her  if  she  didn't  hurry  the 
Indians  would  get  her. 


Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

"I  don't  care/  she  says,  'I'd  just  as  soon  be  with  the 
Indians  as  with  you.' 

"She'd  hardly  got  the  words  out  of  her  mouth  when 
the  Indians  came  rushing  down  on  them  and  shot  the 
man  in  the  leg  and  caught  the  woman  up  on  one  of  their 
horses.  They  were  off  like  the  wind,  and  we  could  hear 
her  screams  long  after  she  was  gone  from  sight.  Efforts 
were  made  to  find  her  for  years,  but  we  never  could 
learn  what  had  become  of  her. 

"You  ought  to  talk  with  old  man  White.  He  is 
eighty-five  years  old  and  came  here  very  early." 

Later  I  had  an  opportunity  to  meet  this  pioneer — a 
white-bearded  patriarch  with  faded  eyes  and  tremulous 
limbs;  and  yet,  in  spite  of  his  age  and  evident  weakness, 
I  found  him  at  his  backdoor  splitting  stovewood.  'The 
first  company  reached  this  region  on  July  24,  1847," 
said  he.  "  Brigham  Young  was  the  leader.  He  was 
sick  in  his  carriage,  but  he'd  seen  the  place  in  a  vision, 
and  when  they  come  over  the  ridge  in  sight  of  the  lake, 
he  looked  out  and  says:  'That's  the  valley  where  we  are 
to  settle.' 

"The  prospects  didn't  seem  very  promising  then. 
It  was  a  very  dry  year,  and  except  along  the  cricks  the 
soil  was  like  ashes.  Some  didn't  think  we  could  ever 
grow  any  crops,  and  a  California  man  was  so  sure  of  it 
that  he  offered  to  pay  one  thousand  dollars  for  the  first 
ear  of  corn  we  raised.  I  was  afraid  we'd  all  starve. 
Some  dug  thistle  roots  and  such  things  to  eat.  Our 


Life  in  a  Mormon  Village  175 

family  was  fortunate.  We  had  a  cow.  She'd  go  to  the 
hills  to  browse  around  during  the  day  and  come  back 
at  night  to  be  milked,  and  we  mowed  canebrakes 
for  her. 

"Our  first  houses  were  little  cabins  of  logs  or  'dobe. 
They  had  flat  roofs  of  poles  with  dirt  thrown  on.  The 
roofs  weren't  made  to  shed  rain,  because  it  didn't  look 
as  if  rain  ever  fell  in  this  desert.  But  in  April  it  began 
to  storm,  and  sometimes  we  had  rain,  and  sometimes 
snow.  In  our  house  we  stretched  an  oxhide  over  the 
top  of  the  bed  to  keep  that  dry.  There  were  four  or  five 
inches  of  water  on  the  floor,  and  we  had  to  lay  down 
sticks  to  walk  on  to  get  to  the  fireplace. 

"Father  and  me  got  a  good  crop  that  year,  and  I 
threshed  the  first  bushel  of  wheat  raised  in  this  state. 
But  there  were  times  in  both  the  first  two  summers 
when  we  thought  the  big  black  crickets  was  goin'  to  eat 
up  everything.  There  was  such  numbers  of  'em  that 
they'd  have  ruined  us  if  the  gulls  hadn't  come  by  mil- 
lions to  eat  'em.  Then  a  few  years  later  we  had  a  plague 
of  grasshoppers.  Lots  of 'em  were  drowned  in  the  lake, 
and  they  washed  up  along  the  shore  in  great  quantities. 
But  there  were  plenty  left,  and  we'd  dig  trenches  and 
drive  'em  in  and  cover  'em  with  dirt.  At  night  they'd 
roost  on  the  tree-trunks  and  fences  and  the  posts  of  the 
piazzas  so  thick  as  to  hide  the  wood  out  of  sight.  In 
one  day  they  took  our  wheat,  which  was  growin'  nice 
and  green,  and  left  the  ground  just  as  clean  as  a  floor. 


1 76    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

We  had  a  big  patch  of  onions,  and  they  slicked  'em  out 
right  down  to  the  roots.  Oh,  we  had  a  good  many  set- 
backs, and  the  people  were  poor  for  a  long  time." 

But  those  days  are  now  long  past,  and  comfort  and 
prosperity  are  general.  As  to  the  Mormon  Church, 
there  is  not  a  little  ferment  and  independence  in  the 
organization.  Many  of  its  members  are  lukewarm  or 
lax,  and  even  heretical;  and  the  cohesiveness  which 
still  characterizes  the  Church  is  by  some  observers  at- 
tributed largely  to  the  unreasonable  bitterness  of  its 
Gentile  critics. 

NOTE. — The  one  place  in  Utah  which  is  universally  known  and  sure 
to  attract  the  traveller  is  Salt  Lake  City.  It  is  fast  growing  to  be  a 
great  metropolis,  and  is  a  handsome  town  with  wide,  tree-lined  streets 
and  a  beautiful  mountain  background.  Its  chief  interest  for  the  gen- 
eral public  probably  arises  from  its  association  with  the  Mormons, 
and  it  is  still  their  capital  and  center  of  authority.  The  most  impor- 
tant Mormon  buildings  are  in  the  heart  of  the  city,  but  neither  the 
many-pinnacled  temple  nor  the  great  mushroom-shaped  tabernacle 
have  any  architectural  charm. 

The  Lake,  which  is  about  twenty  miles  distant,  can  be  best  visited 
by  going  to  the  pleasure  resort  of  Saltair. 

But  to  see  the  Mormon  country  at  its  best,  journey  to  one  of  the 
farm  villages  to  the  north  or  the  south  of  the  capital  city,  and  if  possible 
be  there  on  a  Sunday  to  attend  church.  This  will  give  one  an  oppor- 
tunity to  get  acquainted  with  many  Mormon  characteristics  that  other- 
wise would  be  a  sealed  book;  and  the  village  itself  is  almost  certain  to 
be  full  of  a  quaint  and  serene  attraction. 


X 

WYOMING   DAYS 

IN  looking  at  a  map  of  Wyoming  I  was  especially 
attracted  by  two  towns — Rock  Springs  and  Green 
River.  They  were  not  far  apart  and  their  names 
were  suggestive  of  a  region  of  crystal  waters,  and  pas- 
toral hills,  and  vales  with  pleasant  groves  of  trees.  But 
I  concluded  from  later  experience  that  Wyoming  land- 
scapes are  nowhere  made  on  that  plan.  You  can  travel 
for  scores  of  miles  and  find  yourself  all  the  time  in  a 
region  of  scanty  verdure,  its  more  level  portions  much 
furrowed  by  dry,  abrupt-banked  gullies,  and  abound- 
ing in  steep,  flat-topped  hills,  and  towering  pillars  and 
castellated  bluffs  of  strangely-worn  rocks.  It  is  a  for- 
saken-looking country,  and  the  few  towns  are  not 
usually  of  a  sort  to  help  much  in  mitigating  the  unpre- 
possessing landscapes. 

At  Rock  Springs  coal  mining  is  the  chief  industry, 
and  the  sooty,  odorous  smoke  poured  from  numerous 
chimneys  at  the  mouth  of  the  mines,  and  not  infre- 
quently overspread  the  town  in  a  gloomy  cloud.  Early 
in  the  morning  I  saw  the  miners  going  to  their  work, 
and  late  in  the  afternoon  saw  them  returning  clad  in 


1 78    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

their  grimy  clothes,  each  with  a  torch  stuck  in  the  front 
of  his  cap.  Some  of  them  had  such  blackened  visages 
when  they  emerged  from  the  mines  they  appeared  de- 
cidely  weird  and  spookish.  The  place  was  prosperous, 
and  there  was  employment  for  all  who  were  willing  and 
efficient.  Not  every  person,  however,  would  fit  the  task 
to  which  he  aspired,  as  was  evidenced  by  the  following 
sign  in  a  restaurant  window:  "Wanted,  man  to  sell 
lunch  on  street  at  night.  No  dead  ones  need  apply." 

The  railroad  passed  through  the  center  of  the  town, 
and  on  either  side  of  the  tracks  was  a  row  of  saloons, 
hotels,  and  stores,  beyond  which  were  the  homes.  Trees 
were  so  few  and  small  as  to  be  practically  non-existent, 
and  the  town  was  no  more  vernal  than  was  the  lonely 
surrounding  desolation  of  greasewood  and  sagebrush. 
Quite  a  number  of  cows  were  browsing  on  the  village 
outskirts,  though  what  they  found  to  feed  on  was  a 
mystery.  "They're  lean,  now,"  one  of  the  natives 
observed  to  me;  "but  the  grass  is  starting,  and  they'll 
soon  pick  up  and  be  hog  fat.  Every  night  they'll  come 
in  just  puffed  up  with  feed.  Yes,  they  wiggle  around 
in  that  sagebrush  pretty  good.  They're  great  travellers 
when  they  take  a  notion.  I've  got  a  little  red  cow  I 
bought  off  a  man  living  at  Whiskey  Gap,  sixty  miles 
away.  After  I'd  had  her  eighteen  months  she  con- 
cluded to  go  back  to  her  old  home,  and shegot  there, too." 

I  asked  this  acquaintance  about  the  people  in  the 
place,  and  he  affirmed  that  there  was  "nothing  in  town 


Dove  cotes 


Wyoming  Days  179 

but  Dagos  and  Greeks."  So  sweeping  a  statement 
scarcely  fits  the  facts;  for  even  in  the  mines  most  of 
the  men  are  English-speaking.  But  if  the  latter  are  in 
the  majority,  the  rest  are  a  very  polyglot  lot.  The  nation- 
alities employed  are  many,  and  as  one  man  said:  "You 
find  a  bunch  of  miners  on  the  street,  and  every  one  will 
be  talking  a  different  language."  There  is  a  colony  of 
Chinese,  another  of  Japanese,  and  another  of  Coreans. 
Of  these  yellow  men  the  Japanese  are  rated  highest  as 
workers.  The  Chinese  are  the  most  numerous,  and 
they  have  several  streets  of  ramshackle  houses  with  many 
curious  makeshift  additions  to  the  original  structures. 
Some  of  the  supplementary  roofs  run  so  low  that  it  is 
evident  the  rooms  are  largely  underground.  On  the 
doors  are  strange  red  signs  in  Oriental  hieroglyphics. 

In  a  wide  hollow  neighboring  the  Chinese  settlement 
was  another  peculiar  collection  of  huts.  Many  of  the 
houses  were  backed  up  against  the  steep  banks.  Often 
the  roofs  were  covered  with  dirt  and  were  a  continua- 
tion of  the  bank-tops  so  that  it  was  difficult  to  say  where 
the  ground  ended  and  the  houses  began.  Helterskel- 
tered  among  the  dwellings  were  stables  and  hen  yards 
and  dove  cotes,  and  heaps  of  filth  and  rubbish,  and 
through  the  depths  of  the  hollow  flowed  a  slow,  dirty 
stream.  There  were  other  parts  of  the  town  decidedly 
better  than  this,  but  as  a  rule  the  home  environment 
was  rather  oppressively  forlorn. 


180   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

I  wondered  how  the  children  spent  their  spare  time, 
the  opportunities  for  amusement  seemed  so  slender,  and 
one  day  I  interviewed  a  group  of  youngsters  who  were 
paddling  around  in  a  muddy  gully.  They  told  where 
the  blue  birds  built  nests  in  holes  in  the  banks,  and  the 
thrushes  in  the  big  sagebrush,  and  they  told  about  the 
habits  of  the  meadow-larks,  the  crows,  and  the  hawks. 
"On  Saturdays  we  go  four  miles  out  to  White  Moun- 
tain," they  said,  "and  we  take  a  little  gun  with  us  to 
shoot  gophers  and  rabbits  and  chipmunks.  Yes,  sure 
we  do!  There's  cedar  and  willow  trees  out  to  White 
Mountain,  and  tall  grass.  We  carry  our  lunch  in  tin 
buckets,  and  after  we're  done  eating,  if  there's  snow  on 
the  hillside,  we  lay  the  buckets  down  sideways  and  have 
a  sleigh-ride  on  'em.  We  slide,  too,  around  home  in 
winter,  and  when  there  ain't  sleds  enough  we  use  shovels 
instead.  By  damming  the  crick  we  make  a  pond  that 
freezes  so  we  can  have  a  good  time  skating.  When  it's 
summer  we  go  barefoot  and  run  races  and  go  in  swim- 
ing.  Bitter  Crick  is  our  best  swimming  place,  and  one 
hole  there  is  so  deep,  if  you  went  out  in  the  middle  you'd 
get  drownded." 

On  the  whole  I  could  not  help  concluding  that  youth- 
ful pleasure  and  excitement  were  to  be  found  there  in 
generous  measure. 

The  town  was  the  railroad  center  for  a  vast,  thinly- 
settled  country  roundabout,  where  were  occasional 
ranches  and  little  mines.  Certain  men  made  a  business 


Wyoming  Days  181 

of  carrying  supplies  to  these  outlying  regions,  and  some 
of  their  hauls  were  for  a  distance  of  nearly  one  hundred 
and  fifty  miles.  A  driver  who  was  making  regular  trips 
about  half  that  far  told  me  it  took  him  a  week  to  go  and 
come.  His  usual  load  was  seven  tons.  "I  have  three 
wagons,"  said  he,  "hitched  one  behind  the  other,  and 
back  of  those  is  a  cooster — a  canvas-covered  two- 
wheeled  cart  in  which  I  cook  and  sleep  and  carry  what 
things  I  need  on  jthe  road.  I  drive  twelve  horses  and  go 
alone.  Of  coursers  fellers  know  all  the  roads  and  just 
how  to  plan  stops  so  the  stock  won't  be  too  long  without 
water.  In  summer  I  hobble  the  horses  and  let  'em  graze 
all  night.  In  winter  I  turn  'em  loose  just  the  same,  only 
I  put  blankets  on  'em  and  scatter  hay  so  they  can  all  get 
at  it  to  eat.  Sagebrush  does  me  for  a  fire  in  warm 
weather,  but  when  it's  cold  I  carry  along  a  sack  of  coal." 
During  my  stay  at  Rock  Springs  a  man  dropped  dead 
in  one  of  the  saloons.  It  seemed  that  he  had  been  "  bum- 
ming his  way"  along  the  railroad.  No  one  knew  who 
he  was.  When  they  examined  him  they  found  he  had 
been  stabbed  in  the  breast,  apparently  about  two  days 
before,  and  the  wound  was  the  cause  of  his  death.  Here 
was  a  tragic  mystery,  but  the  town  was  used  to  that  sort 
of  thing  and  it  occasioned  only  passing  comment. 
"You'd  think  our  country  here  was  kind  of  civilized," 
said  an  old  resident,  "and  yet  we  have  one  or  two  mur- 
ders in  the  region  every  month;  and  we  have  fatal  or 
serious  accidents  oftener  than  that.  The  other  day  one 


1 82    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

of  the  miners  lost  his  eyesight  by  the  kick  of  a  mule,  and 
we  got  up  a  benefit  dance  for  him.  Everybody  bought 
tickets  whether  they  intended  to  go  or  not,  and  the  affair 
netted  him  over  twelve  hundred  dollars.  Oh,  they're 
a  big-hearted  people  here!" 

I  tried  to  get  my  informant  to  tell  me  something  of 
the  town's  early  history,  but  he  said :  "  I  can't  talk.  I'm 
not  well.  Lately  we  elected  a  mayor  here.  The  different 
parties  was  all  yankin'  and  yellin',  and  I'd  always  been 
over  head  and  ears  in  politics,  but  I  was  feelin'  so  poorly 
I  had  to  stand  one  side.  Part  of  the  time  I  was  at  home 
in  bed,  and  one  fellow  called  and  began  to  argue  poli- 
tics with  me.  He  had  some  drink  in,  and  his  talk  was 
enough  to  make  a  well  man  sick.  'You  get!'  I  said. 
And  you  bet  he  got,  too.  I'm  an  old  man  now,  and 
though  I've  always  been  hearty  till  lately  I  guess  I'm 
pretty  near  ready  to  pass  in  my  checks." 

So  saying,  he  turned  away  and  hobbled  lamely  off 
homeward.  I  was  disappointed,  but  I  afterward  made 
the  acquaintance  of  other  pioneers  who  told  me  what  I 
wished  to  know.  "When  I  crossed  the  plains  in  1868, 
said  one  of  these,  "the  railroad  ended  at  Fort  Steele 
on  the  North  Platte,  and  we  camped  there  a  few  days 
getting  ready  to  start.  Our  company  had  about  fifty 
wagons,  and  the  oxen  that  was  to  draw  'em  was  grazing 
on  the  range  within  sight  of  the  camp.  But  one  after- 
noon there  come  along  a  stampeding  herd  of  buffaloes — 
several  hundred  of  'em,  tails  up  and  running  as  fast  as 


A  tent-dweller 


Wyoming  Days  183 

they  could  go  with  all  the  old  bulls  in  front.  They 
plunged  right  in  amongst  our  cattle  and  began  to  bel- 
low; and  then  the  cattle  began  to  bellow,  and  off  they 
went,  every  hoof  of  'em,  just  as  wild  as  the  buffaloes. 
The  cowboys  started  in  pursuit.  It  was  four  days  be- 
fore the  last  of  'em  returned,  and  they  didn't  succeed  in 
getting  all  the  cattle  even  then. 

"After  our  journey  began  we  had  adventures  every 
day.  There  were  Indians  around,  and  we  kept  out- 
riders five  or  six  miles  ahead  and  on  each  side  watching 
for  trouble.  Then  at  night  we'd  corral  the  wagons- 
arrange  'em  in  a  circle  and  pitch  our  tents  in  the  open 
space  that  the  wagons  inclosed.  The  cooking  had  to  be 
finished  and  the  fires  all  put  out  before  dark  so  the 
Indians  wouldn't  have  a  chance  to  pick  us  off.  But  we 
never  saw  one  of  'em  the  whole  trip,  though  I've  no 
doubt  they  saw  us  right  along. 

"One  afternoon  we  come  to  a  wagon  standing  by 
itself  loaded  with  all  sorts  of  merchandise.  Leaning 
ag'in'  a  wheel  was  a  double-barreled  shotgun  with  one 
barrel  discharged,  and  there  was  a  bed  on  the  ground 
beside  the  wagon  that  had  bloodstains  on  the  blankets. 
Not  far  away,  was  a  new-made  grave  with  a  board  stuck 
up  at  one  end,  and  these  words  burned  into  it  with  a  hot 
iron:  'Killed  by  Indians.'  We  looked  around  and 
studied  on  what  we  saw,  and  our  captain  said:  'That 
man  was  never  killed  by  the  Indians.  There's  some- 
thing crooked  here.  It's  easy  enough  to  see  that  the 


184   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

Indians  wouldn't  have  left  that  gun  there.  Besides,  the 
wagon  has  got  a  whole  lot  of  powder  and  shot  in  it, 
which  would  be  the  first  things  they'd  have  wanted. 
There  was  two  men  in  this  outfit,  and  one  has  killed  the 
other.' 

"We  went  on  and  left  the  wagon  as  it  was,  and  late 
the  next  day  we  met  three  men,  two  on  horseback,  and 
one  on  a  big  black  mule,  and  all  of  them  heavily  armed. 
They  were  going  back  after  the  deserted  wagon.  The 
man  on  the  mule  said  he  was  uncle  to  the  fellow  who'd 
been  killed.  He  claimed  they  were  going  to  a  place  on 
the  Sweetwater  where  there  was  a  gold  excitement. 
But  the  night  before  we  come  along  they  camped,  and 
while  he  was  out  herding  their  cattle  the  Indians  shot 
the  young  fellow.  So  he  drove  the  cattle  over  the  divide 
and  went  to  get  help. 

"And  now  I  want  to  tell  you  the  windup  of  that  affair. 
A  good  many  years  had  passed,  and  I  was  living  here 
at  Rock  Springs.  One  day  the  old  ladies  got  together 
for  a  tea-party.  They  was  telling  their  experiences,  and 
my  mother  told  about  the  abandoned  wagon  and  the 
grave  beside  it  that  we'd  seen  when  we  crossed  the 
plains.  Then  one  woman  in  the  crowd  began  to  cry. 
She  said  she  used  to  know  the  dead  man.  Him  and  her 
was  engaged  to  get  married.  He'd  started  with  his 
uncle  for  the  mines,  and  he  was  going  to  marry  her  when 
he  came  back. 


Wyoming  Days  185 

"Soon  after  the  time  of  the  tea-party  there  was  a  holdup 
on  one  of  our  railroads.  The  sheriff  got  after  the  robbers, 
but  they  killed  him  and  his  deputy.  Then  some  big 
posses  organized.  They  shot  one  robber  to  death,  and 
another  they  put  in  jail.  While  this  fellow  was  in  prison 
he  tackled  the  jailer  in  an  attempt  to  break  out.  But 
the  jailer's  wife  commenced  to  scream  and  yell  and 
holler  blue  murder.  Help  come,  and  they  lynched  the 
prisoner  then  and  there  to  make  sure  of  having  no  more 
trouble.  The  man's  picture  was  put  in  the  papers,  and 
I  recognized  him.  He  had  a  great  big  nose,  and  was 
known  as  'Big-Nosed  George;'  and  he  was  the  same 
person  I'd  seen  riding  on  a  mule  going  back  to  the 
deserted  wagon. 

"There  wa'n't  a  dozen  houses  in  this  town  when  I 
got  here  in  1873.  They'd  begun  coal  mining  in  a  small 
way,  and  there  was  a  company  store  and  meat  market, 
and  two  saloons  in  tents  and  another  in  a  little  frame 
dwelling.  It  was  good  hunting  here  in  those  days — I 
should  say  it  was!  There  were  deer  by  the  thousand 
and  antelope  by  the  million,  I  guess,  and  they'd  come 
close  to  town.  When  you  went  out  with  your  gun  after 
'em,  it  was  more  like  slaughter  than  hunting.  Fve 
stood  right  in  my  tracks  and  shot  seven  antelope  with- 
out stirring.  They'd  go  in  droves  like  sheep;  and  there 
were  lots  of  elk — sometimes  hundreds  in  a  single  band. 

"  Hunting  used  to  be  our  chief  amusement,  though  of 
course  we  played  cards  a  good  deal.  Once  in  a  while, 


1 86   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

too,  there'd  be  a  stag  dance  that'd  last  all  night,  and 
everyone  would  get  drunk.  But  perhaps  the  most 
curious  fun  was  when  a  few  of  your  friends  made  an 
evening  call  on  you.  They'd  be  sitting  around  without 
much  life  in  'em,  and  someone  would  say,  'Let's  have 
five  minutes'  roughhouse.'  Then  they'd  all  go  pullin* 
and  tearin'  at  each  other  and  tumbling  around,  and 
some  were  handled  pretty  rude.  However,  they  were 
all  friends,  mind  you,  and  not  one  of  'em  got  mad.  The 
dishes  would  be  smashed  and  the  stove  turned  over, 
even  though  it  was  red  hot.  But  we  had  to  do  some- 
thing to  break  the  monotony  of  the  wilderness.  After 
the  scramble  we'd  send  for  a  kag  of  beer,  and  while 
that  was  comin'  we  would  clear  up  the  wreckage. 

"One  of  our  summer  amusements  here  is  to  hire  a 
team  and  go  for  a  drive.  The  resort  most  in  favor  is 
a  ranch  about  twelve  miles  out.  The  man  there  raises 
fine  vegetables,  and  has  nice  water  and  a  few  trees. 
The  rancher  likes  to  have  the  picnickers  come  because 
they  buy  his  lettuce  and  buttermilk  and  such  things, 
and  it's  company  for  him.  He  lies  around  in  the  shade 
with  'em  and  always  gets  a  share  of  their  lunch." 

I  mentioned  to  my  informant  what  another  townsman 
had  said  about  the  frequency  of  violent  deaths  in  the 
vicinity,  and  he  responded:  "Things  of  that  sort  you 
hear  of  now  ain't  a  circumstance  to  the  happenings  in 
the  past.  Take,  for  instance,  the  massacree  at  the 
White  River  Indian  Agency.  The  savages  killed  the 


Wyoming  Days  i#7 

agent  and  a  few  others,  and  went  off  to  the  mountains. 
Then  the  troops  come  and  made  their  headquarters  at 
Rawlins.  That  attracted  a  lot  of  toughs  to  the  place, 
and  things  got  so  bad  a  woman  couldn't  go  on  the  street 
in  the  evening  without  being  insulted.  There  was  such 
a  lot  of  drinking  and  gambling  and  killing  that  the 
people  got  tired  of  it.  So  one  day  all  the  regular  inhabi- 
tants went  out  of  the  town  a  little  way  and  held  a  meet- 
ing and  made  themselves  into  a  vigilance  committee. 
When  they  come  back  they  hung  three  of  the  ring- 
leaders of  the  toughs  to  the  posts  at  the  stockyard  and 
ordered  the  rest  of  the  gang  to  clear  out.  Those  fellows 
didn't  need  a  second  telling.  By  and  by  the  coroner 
got  around,  and  held  an  inquest,  and  the  jury  declared 
that  the  dead  men  had  met  death  at  the  hands  of  parties 
unknown.  After  that  Rawlins  was  a  good  town. 

"  But  I  want  to  tell  you  about  an  occurrence  in  Rock 
Springs  a  few  years  later.  Right  here  in  the  town  you're 
in  now  we  had  one  of  the  darndest  affairs  that  ever  was. 
There  were  some  seven  or  eight  hundred  Chinese  work- 
ing in  our  mines  then,  and  the  competition  of  this  cheap 
labor  wasn't  much  to  the  liking  of  the  other  workers. 
But  the  worst  of  it  was  that  the  Chinese  began  to  think 
they  could  have  everything  their  own  way.  They  got  so 
insolent  that  if  you  met  one  of  'em  on  the  street  you'd 
got  to  turn  aside,  or  he'd  swear  at  you  and  shove  you 
out  of  his  way.  The  relations  of  the  white  and  the  yel- 
low men  was  growin'  more  and  more  stormy  when  one 


1 88    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

day,  down  in  a  mine,  a  Chinaman  went  to  work  at  a 
place  where  a  white  man  had  started,  and  when  the 
white  man  tried  to  pull  him  away  he  gave  a  yell  for  help. 
Others  come  running  to  the  spot — some  Chinese  and 
some  whites — and  there  was  a  fight  in  which  two  China- 
men were  killed.  Everyone  hurried  out  of  the  mine 
then,  and  word  was  sent  to  the  other  mines  to  have  all 
their  men  come  out,  too.  In  a  little  while  the  whites 
had  changed  their  clothes,  got  their  guns,  and  held  a 
meeting  at  which  it  was  decided  that  the  Chinese  must  go. 
The  crowd  then  went  over  to  the  huts  where  the  Chinese 
lived  and  ordered  them  to  move.  But  that  didn't  suit 
the  yellow  men,  though  it  was  a  nice  afternoon  in  early 
September,  and  as  good  a  time  for  moving  as  they  could 
have.  The  whites  then  began  to  shoot  in  the  air,  but 
gradually  aimed  lower  and  lower  until  their  bullets  were 
going  right  in  among  the  Chinamen.  The  assailing 
party  didn't  make  any  bones  about  it,  for  they  were 
determined  to  drive  the  Chinese  out.  During  the  shoot- 
ing they  set  fire  to  the  huts.  There  were  sixty  of  them, 
and  all  went  up  in  smoke  except  one.  That  had  no 
floor  and  wouldn't  burn.  Twenty-seven  dead  bodies 
were  found  afterward;  but  most  of  the  Chinese  escaped 
by  scattering  out  over  the  hills.  Some  went  east  and 
some  went  west  and  all  of  'em  struck  the  railroad  after 
a  little  and  were  picked  up  by  a  train.  They  wanted  to 
go  to  San  Francisco  and  back  to  China,  but  the  soldiers 
came  here  to  keep  order  and  the  Chinese  were  induced 
to  return.  They  weren't  so  sassy  after  that." 


Wyoming  Days  189 

My  stay  at  Rock  Springs  ended  in  a  snowstorm.  The 
storm  began  in  the  evening,  and  the  next  morning  the 
country  had  all  the  bleakness  of  midwinter  in  its  aspect. 
"It  did  blow  last  night  all  right,"  remarked  one  man. 
"It  certainly  did;  and  now  the  snow  is  melting,  and 
the  air  is  so  damp  I  could  take  a  handful  and  squeeze 
the  water  out  of  it." 

I  went  by  an  early  train  to  Green  River.  There,  too, 
winter  had  taken  possession,  and  the  ground  and  the 
roofs  were  all  white.  In  some  of  the  yards  were  a  few 
apple  trees  in  full  bloom  and  bending  beneath  the 
weight  of  the  clinging  snow,  and  the  town  for  the  mo- 
ment was  not  without  delicate  touches  of  beauty.  But 
when  the  clouds  broke  away  the  sun  soon  played  havoc 
with  the  snow,  and  the  place  stood  revealed,  a  grimy 
railroad  town  in  a  hollow  among  the  big  bare  buttes. 
Yet  an  effort  was  apparent  to  live  up  to  its  name,  for 
little  poplars  had  been  started  along  the  streets,  and 
there  were  grassplots  in  occasional  dooryards.  The 
river,  which  threaded  its  way  among  the  dreary  sage- 
brush hills  and  lofty  bluffs  of  gray,  red,  and  yellow- 
colored  strata,  was  quite  idyllic  in  nooks  here  and  there, 
and  was  apt  to  have  a  bordering  of  cottonwoods. 

As  I  was  passing  a  tent  on  a  lowland  level  a  man 
accosted  me  from  its  doorway.  "You're  a  stranger, 
ain't  you?"  he  inquired.  "I  s'pose  you're  takin'  an 
invoice  of  this  country.  It's  quite  a  scenery  to  people 
from  back  East. 


igo   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

"This  snow  we've  had  will  provide  good  feed  on  the 
range;  but  it  must  have  made  the  sheep  men  jump.  A 
snowfall  so  late  in  the  season  is  pretty  hard  on  the  young 
lambs.  There's  a  terrible  lot  of  sheep  in  this  state,  and 
they're  pretty  profitable — you  bet  they  are!  The  sheep- 
men get  the  feed  for  nothing,  and  our  Wyoming  moun- 
tain grass  is  equal  to  Nebraska  oats.  The  sheep  have 
to  be  watched  all  the  time,  and  a  herder  and  camp- 
mover  go  along  with  every  flock.  They  have  a  wagon 
to  live  in,  and  the  herder  has  a  couple  of  dogs  to  help 
him.  He  couldn't  do  a  thing  in  the  world  with  the  sheep, 
unless  he  had  dogs,  they're  so  contrary  and  stubborn. 
You  can't  learn  a  sheep  nothing.  It's  too  muleheaded. 
A  dog  will  do  more  in  handling  a  bunch  of  sheep  than 
fifty  men. 

"Usually  the  herders  can  take  things  easy,  but  it's  a 
lonesome  life,  and  dangerous,  too,  sometimes.  In  winter 
the  sheep  must  be  got  together  every  night  in  a  nice, 
sheltered  place  where  the  wind  don't  blow.  But  per- 
haps a  storm  will  come  up  and  the  wind  shift  around. 
Then  very  likely  the  sheep  will  leave  the  bed  ground  and 
drift  on  before  the  storm.  The  herder  has  to  get  out 
and  try  to  keep  'em  together,  and  turn  'em  so  they  won't 
get  scattered  and  lost,  or  be  goin'  over  some  precipice. 
The  snow  will  be  blowin'  so  blame  bad  he  can't  see, 
and  he  don't  know  the  direction  he's  goin'  any  more'n 
the  man  in  the  moon.  So  every  once  in  a  while  some 
herder  out  on  the  range  freezes  to  death. 


The  fishermen 


Wyoming  Days  191 

"The  worst  enemies  of  the  sheep  are  the  coyotes. 
There  ain't  any  better  judges  of  mutton  than  those 
animals  are,  and  they  always  pick  out  the  choicest. 
Last  winter  four  men  trapped  over  twelve  hundred  in 
this  county  for  the  sake  of  the  hides  and  the  bounty; 
but  you  go  out  in  the  hills  and  sleep  over  night  and  you 
wouldn't  think  there  were  any  less.  They're  awful 
sneakin'  and  cunning,  and  you  have  to  look  out  for  'em, 
'specially  on  stormy  nights.  They  ain't  lyin'  by  the 
stove  then,  but  are  out  to  rustle.  That's  the  time  they 
get  their  harvest  by  picking  up  stray  sheep,  or  by  flying 
into  a  herd  and  cutting  off  a  bunch.  They  work  to- 
gether. You  can  tell  that  by  the  way  they  answer  each 
other — just  like  the  roosters  answer  each  other  crowin/ 
They  have  an  unearthly  yell,  and  if  a  man  hears  it  close 
enough  it'll  make  him  sit  up  and  take  notice.  I  don't 
mind  their  noise  myself,  and  I  like  to  snug  the  blankets 
up  about  me  and  listen  to  'em.  It's  a  plaintive,  funny 
kind  of  a  sound,  and  they  will  change  their  notes  as 
fast  as  you  could  change  your  fingers  around  playing  a 
piano.  The  yelps  and  howls  get  all  twisted  together, 
and  the  racket  from  a  single  coyote  will  last  a  full  minute 
without  a  pause  to  take  breath.  You'd  think  there  were 
half  a  dozen,  and  when  several  are  together  they  sing  a 
regular  old  chorus." 

As  I  was  about  to  part  with  the  tent-dweller  he  re- 
marked: "I  suppose,  now  that  you've  happened  here 
in  this  late  snowstorm,  you  think  we  have  curious 


1 92    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

weather,  but  this  ain't  a  fair  sample.  Take  it  the  year 
through,  and  our  climate  is  about  as  good  as  they  make 
'em;  and  we  have  the  finest  fall  that  ever  was  seen, 
quiet  and  fair  for  weeks  together.  The  weather  has 
changed  some  from  what  it  used  to  be.  I  know  years  ago 
most  every  summer  afternoon  toward  night  you'd  notice 
a  cloud  about  the  size  of  your  hand  coming  up  over  the 
mountains.  Gradually  it  would  spread  across  the  sky, 
and  you'd  go  to  bed  at  night  thinkin'  there'd  be  a  down- 
pour; but  not  a  drop  of  rain  would  fall.  You'd  seldom 
hear  any  thunder  either,  though  the  lightning  was  flash- 
ing so  you  could  pick  up  needles  and  pins,  almost.  Our 
summers  now  are  pretty  hot  at  times,  but  we  are  sure 
to  have  cool  nights,  and  you  always  need  a  blanket  over 
you.  So  a  man  can  depend  on  sleeping  comfortably, 
and  that's  a  great  blessing.  Yes,  a  fellow  is  much  better 
off  here  on  a  summer  night  than  sweating  and  stifled  in 
the  hot  muggy  air  you  have  in  the  East." 

Whether  his  enthusiasm  was  fully  justified  might  be 
open  to  debate,  but  it  is  always  a  pleasure  to  meet  a 
person  who  believes  in  the  superiority  of  his  own  par- 
ticular region. 

NOTE. — The  part  of  Wyoming  to  which  this  chapter  is  devoted  can 
hardly  claim  to  be  ideal  country  for  the  sightseer.  Yet  the  scenery  is 
often  ruggedly  impressive,  and  the  towns  have  a  certain  attraction  in 
spite  of  their  rather  forbidding  environment.  The  human  element 
at  least  is  unfailingly  interesting.  These  towns  are  the  trading  centers 
for  such  herdsmen,  miners,  ranch-dwellers  and  others  as  venture  into 


Wyoming  Days  193 

the  vast  outlying  wilderness,  and  whose  labor  and  experiences  are 
always  matters  of  discussion,  and  whose  coming  and  going  imparts  a 
peculiar  individuality  to  the  Wyoming  town  activities.  Perhaps  the 
best  time  for  a  visit  is  when  the  great  flocks  of  sheep  are  driven  to  the 
vicinity  of  the  settlements  to  be  sheared.  That  is  the  busiest  season 
of  the  year  and  affords  the  only  opportunity  for  seeing  the  wandering 
flocks  to  advantage  without  going  far  into  the  wilds. 


XI 

MOUNTAIN   AND    VALLEY   IN   MONTANA 

THE  biggest  town  in  the  state,  and  the  one  best 
known  to  the  world  outside,  is  Butte,  high  among 
the  mountains  near  the  continental  divide.  It 
has  almost  one  hundred  thousand  inhabitants,  and  is 
old  as  age  is  reckoned  in  that  new  country,  yet  it  is  still 
spoken  of  as  a  mining  camp.  Indeed,  without  the 
mines,  it  would  fade  into  insignificance;  but,  as  things 
are,  the  town  is  a  source  of  enormous  wealth.  From  it 
comes  one-fourth  of  all  the  world's  production  of  copper, 
as  well  as  considerable  quantities  of  gold  and  silver; 
and  the  revenue  from  the  Butte  mines  is  equal  to  the 
entire  income  of  the  government  of  Holland. 

The  town  is  on  the  long  slope  of  a  hill,  the  crest  of 
which  is  a  steep  ridge  terraced  with  waste  from  the 
mines,  and  dotted  here  and  there  with  rude  groups  of 
buildings  and  lofty  smokestacks.  That  final  ridge  is 
particularly  ugly,  yet  counting  the  riches  that  have  come 
from  it  in  the  past  and  that  still  lie  buried  in  its  depths 
it  is  the  most  valuable  hill  in  the  world.  You  might 
fancy  that  one  result  of  this  wealth  would  be  a  beautiful 
city;  but  the  reality  is  far  otherwise.  While  I  was  there, 


In  the  mining  district  of  Butte 


Mountain  and  Valley  in  Montana  195 

the  streets,  except  for  a  few  that  were  paved,  were  about 
three  inches  deep  with  a  black,  sticky  mud  which  threat- 
ened to  engulf  me  at  every  crossing.  The  place  has  its 
fine  buildings,  but  log  structures  still  survive  even  in  the 
heart  of  the  city,  and  most  of  the  dwellings  are  only  one 
story  high,  closely  crowded,  and  often  shabby.  Below 
the  town,  on  the  low  levels  at  the  foot  of  the  slope,  are 
great  dark  heaps  of  slag,  and  broad  wastes  of  sand  and 
mud,  the  results  of  mining,  both  past  and  present. 
Bordering  these  flats  several  big  bare  mountains  rise 
rugged  and  imposing,  and  in  the  distance  is  a  range  of 
snowy  peaks. 

Butte  began  as  a  gold  camp.  The  first  wandering 
prospectors  came  into  the  region  in  1863.  At  first  they 
simply  panned  or  rocked  the  silt  along  the  streams. 
The  panning  was  done  in  a  big  shallow  metal  dish, 
eighteen  inches  across  and  five  deep  with  the  sides 
slanting  sharply  outward.  The  prospector  put  in  a  few 
handfuls  of  soil,  dipped  up  some  water  with  the  pan, 
then  shook  it  and  gradually  let  the  dirty  water  escape 
over  the  edge.  This  process  of  dipping  and  washing 
was  repeated  until  he  had  only  gold  left.  The  washing 
took  only  a  few  minutes,  and  the  gold  remained  be- 
hind, simply  because  it  was  heavier  than  the  rest  of  the 
soil.  It  requires  good  rich  dirt  to  make  panning  profit- 
able. Anything  less  than  an  average  of  ten  cents  to  a 
washing  is  not  considered  satisfactory.  But  on  a  basis 
of  three  cents  worth  of  gold  to  a  pan  it  is  worth  while  to 


196   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

do  sluicing.  If  the  miner  who  wishes  to  adopt  this 
method  of  securing  gold  is  hard  up,  he  will  very  likely 
resort  to  rocking  to  get  the  means  to  pay  for  sluice  boards 
and  supplies.  Rocking  was  a  California  discovery. 
A  party  of  forty-niners  reached  a  place  where  they 
wanted  to  do  sluicing,  but  no  lumber  was  to  be  had. 
So  one  of  the  men  took  a  cradle  he  had  brought  along, 
fitted  the  bottom  board  with  riffles,  and  adjusted  this 
board  so  it  slanted  a  little  from  the  head  to  the  foot. 
At  the  head  he  fastened  a  coarse  sieve  of  perforated  tin, 
and  as  dirt  and  water  were  thrown  in  this  it  screened  out 
the  coarsest  stuff.  Then  by  rocking  the  cradle,  as  more 
water  was  added,  the  gold  was  caught  in  the  hollows  of 
the  riffles,  and  the  lighter  dirt  and  grit  flowed  off.  Two 
men  were  needed  for  this  job;  one  to  shovel  in  the  silt, 
while  the  other  rocked  the  cradle  and  poured  in  the 
water  taken  from  the  stream  with  a  long-handled  dipper. 
Often  there  remained  mixed  with  the  gold  a  little  mag- 
netic sand  which  was  too  heavy  to  be  washed  away 
without  also  losing  some  of  the  yellow  metal.  To  dis- 
pose of  it,  the  mixture  was  dried  over  a  fire.  Then  a 
magnet  between  a  fold  of  paper  was  held  over  the  gold, 
and  the  sand  would  jump  up  and  cling  to  the  paper. 
After  that  it  was  only  necessary  to  move  the  paper  to 
one  side,  slip  out  the  magnet,  and  the  sand  fell  off. 

The  gold  miners  at  Butte  adopted  for  a  time  the  usual 
simple  methods  of  securing  gold,  and  then  hydraulic 
mining^became  common.  All  the  soil  on  the  lower  slope 


Mountain  and  Valley  in  Montana  197 

of  the  present  town  site  was  washed  off,  and  in  some 
places  it  was  twenty  feet  deep. 

According  to  an  early  settler  with  whom  I  chatted 
copper  mining  did  not  begin  until  about  1880.  "We 
knew  there  was  copper  here,"  said  he,  "but  there  was 
nothing  very  promising  showed  up  at  the  surface,  and 
one  of  our  richest  mines  was  once  traded  off  for  an  old 
cayuse  and  a  saddle  and  bridle.  The  more  ambitious 
miners  neglected  the  hill  just  above  the  town,  and  froze 
to  death  prospecting  on  the  mountains;  or  perhaps  they'd 
escape  freezing,  and  instead  would  work  themselves  to 
death  on  their  claims;  or  they'd  get  disgusted  with  their 
luck  and  shoot  themselves.  Really,  those  that  made 
most  in  this  camp  were  a  class  of  miners  who  took  life 
easy — lazy  old  bachelors,  who  were  so  shiftless  they 
didn't  care  to  exert  themselves.  They'd  pound  rocks 
just  enough  to  get  and  hold  some  claim  that  no  one  else 
would  have,  and  the  rest  of  the  time  they  loafed  in  their 
cabins.  But  it  finally  commenced  to  dawn  on  them  that 
these  copper  claims  was  goin'  to  be  valuable  some  day, 
and  pretty  soon  the  owners  were  rich.  The  money  just 
piled  in  on  'em — they  couldn't  keep  away  from  it. 

"As  soon  as  copper  began  to  be  mined  in  quantities 
some  big  smelters  were  built  here.  The  smelting  was 
done  by  roasting  the  ore  on  the  ground  with  wood  fires. 
That  set  free  fumes  of  arsenic  and  sulphur,  which  filled 
the  air  all  through  the  region.  By  George!  it  was  fear- 
ful. The  place  was  a  regular  hell  with  the  smoke  and 


198    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

the  smells;  and  the  arsenic  killed  all  the  grass  and  trees 
for  miles  around.  There  was  just  bare  earth  and  rocks 
left.  It  doesn't  seem  reasonable  that  such  fumes  could 
be  very  conducive  to  human  life,  but  we  weren't  affected 
the  way  the  vegetation  was.  People  would  cough,  and 
some  of  'em  would  tie  handkerchiefs  over  their  mouths 
and  noses.  The  smell  was  worst  when  the  air  was 
dryest.  Then  it  would  pretty  near  cut  your  lungs  right 
out,  and  at  times  I'd  find  myself  wheezing  as  if  I  was 
about  to  be  suffocated. 

"Great  volumes  of  smoke  were  always  rolling  up 
from  the  smelters,  and  I've  known  that  smoke  to  settle 
down  and  hang  here  for  weeks.  When  you  climbed  up 
above  it  and  looked  down  you  saw  it  lying  in  the  valley 
like  a  blue  lake.  When  there  was  fog,  that  and  the 
smoke  would  get  mixed,  and  be  so  thick  you'd  bump 
into  people  as  you  walked  on  the  street,  and  the  hack 
horses  had  to  be  led  from  the  depot  to  the  hotels.  The 
sun  would  be  hidden  from  sight  completely,  and  if  you 
got  under  an  arc  light  it  would  seem  like  just  a  little 
spark  above  you,  and  you'd  wonder  what  it  was.  Team- 
sters going  outside  of  the  town  would  get  lost,  and  they'd 
unhitch  their  horses  and  hunt  their  way  back  to  the 
stable.  It  might  be  a  week  before  they'd  find  the  wagon. 
If  the  weather  was  cold,  that  infernal  smoke  penetrated 
your  clothes  and  seemed  to  make  it  colder.  The  gloom 
and  the  odors  and  the  desolation  were  so  bad  that  at 
last  the  people  got  up  a  crowd  and  took  teams  and  went 


Mountain  and  Valley  in  Montana  199 

and  smothered  the  smelter  fires  with  dirt.  The  mayor 
was  with  'em  doing  his  part  to  help;  and  after  that  the 
owners  of  the  smelters  moved  into  another  valley,  and 
built  'em  so  they  wouldn't  turn  the  region  there  into  a 
desert  as  they  had  here.  Now  the  poison  is  gradually 
getting  washed  out  of  the  soil  and  we're  trying  to  have 
lawns  and  trees  and  flowers  again.  It's  not  yet  a  town 
that  strangers  like  at  first  sight,  and  if  they  settle  here 
they  declare  they'll  move  away  just  as  soon  as  they  get 
the  means.  But  the  wages  are  high,  and  life  is  freer 
and  easier  than  in  most  places,  so  that  people  who  get 
used  to  Butte  are  never  satisfied  to  live  anywhere  else. 
"Until  1885  the  buildings  were  mostly  of  logs,  though 
some  places  of  business  were  faced  up  with  lumber  to 
give  'em  a  better  appearance.  Sunday  was  the  liveliest 
day  of  the  week.  All  the  prospectors  came  in  from  the 
country  then,  every  store  was  open,  and  the  gambling 
houses  were  running  full  blast.  You  could  look  right 
into  the  gambling  dens  from  the  street  and  see  the 
twenty  dollar  gold  pieces  stacked  up  on  the  tables.  The 
early  miners  were  Americans  as  a  general  thing.  They 
were  frontiersmen  who  had  run  away  from  too  much 
civilization.  At  their  former  homes  the  folks  had  got 
too  strict,  too  religious  or  something,  and  these  men 
felt  they  had  to  fly  away  as  far  as  possible.  There  was 
nothing  mean  or  stingy  about  'em.  If  you  saw  a  fellow 
you  knew  who  wa'n't  treating  to  drinks  or  spending  no 
money,  you  knew  he  must  be  broke,  and  when  it  was 


2OO    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

mealtime  you'd  say,  'Well,  Jack,  you  ain't  e't  yet- 
come  on  and  eat  with  me.' 

"They  were  a  liberal  and  hospitable  people,  and 
nobody  starved  in  this  country.  They'd  divide  their 
last  mouthful  with  you — yes  and  divide  their  bed  with 
you,  and  it  made  no  difference  whether  there  were  gray- 
backs  in  it  or  not.  Every  cabin  had  a  buckskin  latch- 
string,  and  it  was  always  out.  They  never  thought  of 
locking  any  doors  in  a  mining  camp.  Supposing  you 
were  off  in  the  mountains  and  hungry,  and  you  came  to 
a  cabin  where  no  one  was  at  home — you'd  step  in  and 
help  yourself  to  food,  cook  it,  wash  the  dishes,  and  go 
about  your  business. 

"We  had  no  holdups  then — at  least  not  of  individuals; 
or  if  there  was,  the  vigilance  committee  got  after  the 
party  they  thought  was  responsible  and  hung  him. 
Now  you  can't  even  leave  an  ax  outdoors  but  that  some- 
one will  borrow  it  and  forget  to  return  it,  and  there's 
lots  of  petty  larceny  thieves  who  steal  just  to  be  put  in 
jail  and  fed. 

"As  a  rule  the  miners  are  spendthrifts  and  always 
have  been;  but  their  worst  enemy  today  is  the  credit 
system.  For  instance,  young  people  marry  and  start 
housekeeping,  and  when  they  find  they  can  get  trusted 
for  what  they  buy  they  begin  to  live  a  little  beyond  their 
means,  and  by  and  by  they  no  longer  have  any  honor 
about  paying  their  debts.  It  doesn't  matter  what  their 
income  is.  If  they  got  ten  dollars  a  day  they'd  be  broke 


AST  EDITION 
DAY,  JAN.  16,  1919 


1919 


Mountain  and  Valley  in  Montana  201 

before  the  next  pay  day  came  just  the  same.  The  old- 
timers  spent  their  own  money,  but  they  didn't  sponge 
on  other  people.  Whatever  their  faults,  they  were  good, 
sincere  men.  That  is  one  reason  why  they  weren't 
religious.  It's  about  as  'twas  with  me  when  I  was  a 
boy.  I  wanted  to  be  pious,  and  I'd  try  to  pray;  but  it 
would  flit  through  my  mind  that  Pete  Mason  and  I  was 
goin'  fishin'  on  Sunday,  and  I  give  up.  It  didn't  seem 
right  to  pretend  to  be  religious  when  I  was  doin'  things 
I  knew  religion  didn't  approve  of. 

"  I've  spent  a  good  deal  of  my  time  here  placer  mining 
in  the  mountains,  and  men  are  still  washing  out  gold  in 
that  way  within  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  of  here.  The 
gold  hunter  leads  a  great  life.  There's  a  romance  about 
it  to  be  found  in  nothing  else.  You're  in  close  touch 
with  nature,  and  the  gold  you  get  isn't  just  an  ordinary 
commodity.  It  was  made  in  the  form  you  found  it  by 
the  power  that  made  the  world.  A  dollar  of  it  seems 
worth  five  gained  in  any  other  way.  I  didn't  use  to 
notice  the  time  go  by.  When  night  came,  after  working 
hard  all  day,  I'd  wish  I  could  keep  right  on.  If  we  had 
dry  weather  so  there  wasn't  water  enough  for  working  I'd 
take  my  gun  and  go  after  game.  I  was  hearty  and  well. 
A  man  never  could  feel  better  under  any  conditions. 

"Some  of  those  fellows  prospecting  among  the  moun- 
tains are  now  old  men.  If  they  make  money  they  drink, 
gamble,  speculate — any  way  to  get  rid  of  it.  One  of  'em 
that  I  know  is  over  seventy,  but  when  he  gets  a  dram  or 


2O2    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

two  of  nose  paint  he  thinks  he's  one  of  the  boys,  and 
then  he  don't  care  how  the  money  goes.  He  and  his 
pardner  have  a  small  ranch  where  they  raise  a  little 
wheat  and  stuff,  and  after  working  through  the  week 
they  get  a  jug  of  liquor,  bet  five  dollars  as  to  which  is 
the  best  marksman,  and  spend  Sunday  shooting  at  a 
target  and  emptying  the  jug.  He  went  East  to  his  rela- 
tives a  while  ago  intending  to  stay  with  'em  the  rest  of 
his  days.  But  he  was  soon  back.  'That  sort  of  life 
would  kill  me,'  he  said.  'I  couldn't  stand  it.'  ' 

To  see  Montana  in  another  aspect  I  visited  the  Galla- 
tin  Valley  known  as  "the  garden  spot  of  the  state."  It 
is  about  thirty  miles  long  and  half  that  broad.  Much 
of  it  is  as  level  as  a  floor,  but  along  the  borders  are  big 
softly  rounded  hills  with  a  background  of  impressive 
mountain  ranges.  The  soil  is  justly  celebrated  for  its 
fertility,  and  prosperity  is  general.  Many  of  the  farmers 
stay  on  their  farms  only  during  the  season  that  the  crops 
need  attention  and  spend  the  winter  in  homes  that  they 
own  "in  town,"  which  usually  means  Bozeman,  the 
metropolis  of  the  valley.  Bozeman  is,  however,  not 
much  more  than  a  snug  country  village,  embowered  in 
trees  and  quite  suggestive  of  sociable  serenity.  The 
educational  advantages  of  the  town  are  one  of  its  at- 
tractions; for  in  addition  to  the  schools  usually  found 
in  any  good-sized  community  there  is  a  college.  "The 
biggest  part  of  the  valley  children  graduate  from  the 
high  school,"  an  acquaintance  remarked  to  me,  "and 


Mountain  and  Valley  in  Montana  203 

those  that  want  to  make  something  besides  farmers 
out  of  theirselves  go  to  college  afterward."  Often  the 
young  people  move  to  town  in  the  autumn  and  attend 
school  and  do  their  own  housekeeping,  while  their  par- 
ents continue  at  the  farm  till  the  harvest  is  ended. 

On  the  uplands  a  good  deal  of  dry  farming  is  being 
done,  and  excellent  crops  are  produced  where  formerly 
it  was  thought  only  grazing  was  possible.  Dry  farming 
does  not  mean  that  crops  can  be  raised  in  soil  devoid  of 
moisture,  but  that  by  proper  treatment  the  soil  is  made 
to  conserve  its  moisture  for  crop  nourishment  instead  of 
giving  it  off  into  the  air.  The  ploughing  is  done  in  the 
spring.  Then  the  land  is  thoroughly  disked  and  har- 
rowed, and  after  every  rain  it  is  harrowed  again.  By 
keeping  the  surface  pulverized  a  sort  of  blanket  is  formed 
which  prevents  the  moisture  from  escaping.  Finally 
fall  wheat  is  sown  and  the  land  then  takes  care  of  it- 
self until  harvest  time. 

There  were  still  occasional  straw  stacks  around  the 
farmhouses  and  here  and  there  in  the  fields.  "  We  won't 
get  shet  of  them  this  year,"  said  one  farmer.  "Usually 
the  stock  tear  'em  to  pieces  and  eat  considerable,  but 
last  fall  the  feed  was  so  good  in  the  pastures  we  didn't 
use  no  roughness  hardly." 

On  one  of  my  rambles  a  shower  drove  me  into  a 
farmhouse,  and  I  sat  down  in  the  kitchen.  "This  is 
Monday,"  said  Mrs.  Farmer,  "and  I  don't  like  to  see 
it  rain,  because  Monday  is  our  day  for  washing  if  it's  fit 


204    Highways  and^Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

weather.  Then,  too,  they  say  that  rain  on  Monday 
means  rain  all  the  week,  or  three  days  anyway.  I  heard 
the  robins  singing  their  rain  song  last  night,  and  this 
storm  is  no  more  than  I  was  expecting.  I  wish  we  could 
have  some  pretty  weather  till  the  crops  are  in.  It's 
been  so  wet  we  couldn't  plough." 

I  mentioned  that  I  had  met  a  man  on  the  road  who 
told  me  the  moon  was  about  to  change,  and  therefore 
the  weather  would  change  also. 

"Yes,"  said  she,  "but  did  he  notice  that  every  change 
of  moon  this  month  was  on  Friday  ?  That's  something 
never's  been  heard  of  before.  So  I  think  it  will  rain 
every  day  this  month.  But  goodness  sakes!  I  hope  not. 
My  husband  ketched  an  awful  bad  cold  last  week,  and 
I  can't  keep  him  in  out  of  the  wet  the  best  I  can  do.  It 
might  develop  into  pneumony.  That's  the  most  dreaded 
disease  we  have  here.  People  seldom  get  over  it,  the 
climate  is  so  high.  There's  one  thing  we  don't  have 
though,  and  that's  malarial  fever.  We  asked  about  it 
when  we  moved  from  Missouri,  and  they  didn't  know 
what  'twas — never  had  heard  of  it.  Oh,  I  like  this 
country  fine! 

"Did  you  notice  the  bushes  along  the  roadside  all 
white  with  blossoms  ?  They'll  be  loaded  with  berries 
later — sarvice  berries.  You  can  take  your  hands  and 
just  rake  them  off.  They're  awful  good  to  eat  raw- 
healthy,  you  know,  and  you  can  sell  'em  in  the  stores, 
or  make  'em  into  butter.  Choke  cherries  make  good 


Mountain  and  Valley  in  Montana  205 

butter,  too.  You  cook  'em  and  then  take  and  rub  'em 
through  a  cullender.  After  that  sweeten  to  taste  and 
cook  again  till  the  butter  is  right  thick.  People  just  go 
crazy  for  choke  cherries  here.  They  come  out  from  the 
town  to  pick  'em,  and  they  claim  they're  the  finest  kind 
of  medicine;  but  my  goodness  they're  dreadful  puckery 
things  to  eat  raw,  and  you  dassent  drink  no  sweet  milk 
after  eating  'em.  If  you  do,  you'll  sure  be  made  sick. 
Raspberries  and  currants  grow  in  the  brush  along  the 
streams,  and  you  can  find  gooseberries  in  the  canyons 
—just  quantities  of  'em.  Up  on  the  mountains  there 
are  plenty  of  huckleberries  in  a  good  year.  I  think 
they're  the  best  fruit  that  grows.  You  can  cook  'em 
and  can  'em  up  any  old  way,  and  they  keep  good,  no 
matter  how  you  fix  'em." 

About  this  time  the  man  of  the  house  came  in,  and  we 
had  dinner.  While  we  were  eating  he  remarked  on  the 
shortness  of  their  seasons.  "  I  can't  grow  corn,"  he  said, 
"except  a  little  sweet  corn  for  roas'in'  years;  and  that 
hardly  ever  matures  enough  so  it  can  be  used  for  seed. 
The  nineteenth  of  August  last  year  we  had  a  killin' 
frost  all  over  this  valley,  pretty  much.  It  damaged  the 
oats  so  I  don't  reckon  some  men  cut  theirs  at  all;  and 
the  spring  wheat  got  such  a  setback  that  it  was  naturally 
ruined  and  was  no  account  afterward.  The  frost  nearly 
got  away  with  the  gardens,  too.  Oh,  it  was  bad! 

"When  I  first  came  here  I  was  afraid  the  winters 
would  be  too  harsh  for  us,  but  the  cold  is  still  and  dry 


206   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

and  don't  go  right  through  a  fellow  as  it  does  in  a  climate 
that's  windy  and  damp.  Yes,  this  country  suits  me, 
and  when  it  comes  to  grain,  hay  and  potatoes,  the  Gal- 
latin  Valley  can't  be  beat." 

The  enthusiasm  for  that  particular  region  which  this 
man  voiced  was  shared  by  most  of  his  neighbors,  and 
they  were  apt  to  feel  that  they  could  never  be  contented 
elsewhere.  One  such  family  with  whom  I  made  my 
home  for  a  time  occupied  a  huddle  of  one-story,  dirt- 
roofed  log  cabins.  They  were  people  of  refinement, 
and  well  able  to  afford  a  dwelling  of  more  modern  type, 
but  they  had  become  attached  to  their  home  in  its  primi- 
tive, pioneer  form.  The  buildings  were  in  a  little 
meadow  with  steep  protecting  hills  on  three  sides,  while 
on  the  fourth  side  were  level  lowlands  sweeping  away 
to  lines  of  distant  mountains.  Just  back  of  the  cabins 
was  a  grove  of  big  cottonwoods,  and  a  shallow  creek 
lingered  through  the  meadow,  and  gathered  at  one  place 
in  a  pond  where  the  ducks  and  geese  liked  to  paddle 
about.  The  nearest  village  was  four  miles  distant,  and 
the  road  thither  was  a  most  erratic  sort  of  a  byway.  It 
forded  the  creek  a  dozen  times,  and  encountered  numer- 
ous barbed-wire  gates  which  must  be  unfastened  and 
dragged  aside  every  time  anyone  passed  through. 

The  log  cabins  were  rude,  but  had  a  substantial  and 
cosy  simplicity  that  was  quite  pleasing.  "We  ap- 
preciate 'em  most  in  winter,"  said  the  owner.  "They're 
much  warmer  than  a  frame  house." 


Mountain  and  Valley  in  Montana  207 

We  were  sitting  in  the  living  room.  The  logs  and 
boards  of  the  roof  had  been  whitewashed,  and  the  walls 
were  pasted  over  with  newspapers.  It  was  lighted  by 
two  small  windows.  The  floor  was  roughly  boarded, 
but  the  family  regarded  the  cracks  and  bumps  with 
complaisancy,  it  was  so  much  better  than  the  dirt  floors 
of  earlier  days.  In  one  corner  was  a  cookstove  accom- 
panied by  a  big  red  woodbox.  Many  utensils  and  arti- 
cles of  clothing  hung  on  the  walls. 

My  host's  chief  criticism  of  the  vicinity  was  that 
fruit  trees  did  not  flourish.  "When  I  was  a  boy  back 
in  Ohio,"  said  he,  "there  was  a  peach  tree  in  every 
corner  of  our  Virginia  rail  fences,  and  I'd  sit  on  the 
fence  and  eat  the  peaches  till  I  fell  off.  After  I  grew  up 
I  began  to  move  on  west,  and  in  1859,  I  took  a  farm  in 
Iowa  to  work  on  shares,  two-thirds  of  the  crop  for  me 
and  one-third  for  the  owner.  I  put  in  oats,  corn,  and 
wheat.  They  all  turned  out  fine,  but  I  had  trouble  doing 
the  harvesting  and  marketing  to  advantage.  For  cut- 
ting the  wheat  and  oats  I  gave  my  share  of  the  wheat; 
and  then  for  threshing  and  delivering  the  grain  I  gave 
my  share  of  the  oats.  That  left  the  corn.  There  was  a 
hundred  acres  of  it,  and  when  I  shucked  it  I  had  to  have 
a  regular  village  of  corn  cribs  to  store  it  in.  However, 
in  order  to  sell  it,  the  corn  must  be  drawn  a  long  distance, 
and  then  I  couldn't  sell  it  for  money,  but  had  to  take 
cottonwood  fence  boards  in  exchange.  Those  boards 
would  warp  off  my  wagon  before  I  got  back,  and  when 


208    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

I  nailed  them  on  to  the  fence  posts  they'd  warp  the  nails 
out  at  one  end  and  twist  over  so  you  could  nail  from  the 
other  side.  I  got  discouraged,  and  I  finally  swapped 
my  corn  for  a  watch.  The  watch  was  a  pinchbeck 
affair  that  never  did  run,  and  later  when  I  come  across 
a  man  who  hadn't  any  watch  I  asked  him  what  he'd 
give  for  it.  'Five  dollars,'  he  said,  and  I  sold  it  to  him. 
After  keeping  it  a  few  months  hung  on  his  wall  he  paid 
two  dollars  and  a  half  to  have  it  repaired,  and  then  it 
wouldn't  go. 

"There  was  quite  a  noise  about  Pike's  Peak  at  that 
time,  and  in  the  spring  I  left  Council  Bluffs  for  Denver. 
We  had  ten  men  in  our  company,  and  six  ox-wagons. 
Lots  of  other  outfits  were  on  the  road,  and  we  always  had 
some  of  'em  in  sight.  Once  in  a  while  we'd  overtake  a 
party  that  was  having  a  fight.  Perhaps  four  or  five  men 
owned  a  single  wagon,  and  some  were  kind  of  faint- 
hearted and  didn't  want  to  go  any  farther.  I've  seen 
'em  cut  a  wagon  in  two,  and  make  it  into  carts,  and  one 
cart  would  go  on,  and  the  other  return.  I  recollect  one 
big  Georgian  on  the  back  track.  He  was  barefoot  and 
dilapidated,  and  we  laughed  at  him.  'You'd  laugh  out 
of  the  other  side  of  your  mouth,'  he  said,  'if  you  was  me. 
I  never  was  away  from  home  before.  I've  been  to 
Denver.  It's  a  new  camp — just  a  few  houses  scattered 
over  the  sand,  and  things  looked  so  disagreeable  I 
thought  I'd  go  back.' 


A  problem 


Mountain  and  Valley  in  Montana  209 

"Our  party  went  into  the  mountains  looking  for  gold, 
and  in  one  place  the  first  pan  showed  two  dollars  and 
forty  cents  worth.  Then  we  whipsawed  boards  enough 
to  make  a  sluice.  The  sawing  was  done  by  fixing  up 
two  tall  sawhorses  on  which  we  mounted  a  log,  and 
then,  one  man  standing  up  above,  and  one  down  below, 
we'd  work  the  saw.  Sluicing  in  that  particular  spot 
didn't  prove  to  be  profitable.  We  were  living  in  a  little 
bush  shack  made  by  setting  up  two  crotched  stakes  with 
a  pole  laid  on  them  from  which  spruce  boughs  were 
slanted  down  to  the  ground  on  one  side.  The  spruce 
turned  water  pretty  near  as  good  as  a  shingle  roof.  A 
fire  out  in  front  served  for  cooking  and  kept  us  warm. 
While  we  were  there  three  fellows  came  along  who  had 
only  one  blanket  between  them,  and  just  what  food 
they  could  carry  in  their  pockets.  So  they  e't  off  us; 
and  they  went  up  the  opposite  side  of  the  crick  and  lo- 
cated where  there  was  a  pocket  from  which  they  took 
out  nearly  two  hundred  thousand  dollars. 

"  By  fall  of  the  next  year  I  succeeded  in  getting  to- 
gether eleven  hundred  dollars  and  I  returned  to  the 
states  and  blowed  it  in  before  the  winter  was  over. 
Then  I  came  to  Montana.  I  was  still  gold-hunting,  but 
the  claims  didn't  amount  to  anything  here,  and  in  No- 
vember I  settled  down  on  this  farm.  The  next  spring 
I  did  some  of  the  first  ploughing  ever  done  in  Montana. 
I  thought  this  was  the  most  beautiful  wild  country  I'd 
ever  seen.  There  was  game  running  in  every  direction, 


2io    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

and  the  antelope  were  so  thick  you  could  shoot  'em 
right  from  your  cabin;  for  they'd  come  up  quite  close 
out  of  curiosity.  They  were  bound  to  investigate  any- 
thing new.  If  you  lay  down  on  the  ground  and  stuck  up 
a  colored  handkerchief  on  your  ramrod,  you'd  soon 
have  'em  within  shooting  distance. 

"There  was  plenty  of  good  grazing — buffalo  grass 
and  bunch  grass  growing  everywhere.  A  cow  could  lie 
down  and  get  more  feed  than  she  could  now  walking 
around.  I've  wintered  cattle  on  the  range  that'd  sell 
for  beef  in  May,  and  they  would  be  fat,  too.  Timber 
wolves  bothered  us  considerable,  and  they  are  still  doing 
lots  of  damage  in  the  northern  part  of  the  state.  They 
mostly  kill  colts  and  calves,  but  a  bunch  of  'em  together 
will  down  anything,  if  they're  hungry. 

"I  planted  six  acres  my  first  year  here.  Potatoes 
were  the  main  crop,  and  the  yield  was  tremendous.  As 
soon  as  I  got  'em  dug  I  loaded  one  hundred  and  eighty 
bushels  on  a  couple  of  prairie  schooners,  leaving  a  little 
space  under  the  bow  of  the  canvas  top  for  a  bed.  I 
hired  a  man  to  go  with  me,  and  we  hitched  up  with  five 
yoke  of  oxen  to  each  wagon  in  order  to  get  over  the 
seventy  miles  of  rough  trail  to  Helena.  Just  before 
starting  I  used  the  last  of  my  flour  to  bake  a  pone  of 
bread.  The  baking  was  done  in  a  Dutch  oven — a  shal- 
low iron  kettle  with  stout  legs.  You  set  it  on  the  coals, 
and  it  had  a  rimmed  cover  so  you  could  heap  coals  on 
top.  I've  baked  as  fine  bread  in  a  Dutch  oven  as  you 


Mountain  and  Valley  in  Montana  21 1 

could  ask  to  see — light  as  a  cork.  On  the  third  night 
we  made  our  last  camp  about  half  a  dozen  miles  from 
Helena.  By  and  by  I  noticed  some  smoke  curling  up  off 
in  the  brush,  and  I  went  over  there  and  found  a  man 
who  had  a  little  supply  of  flour.  He  was  willing  to  sell 
me  five  pounds  for  five  dollars,  and  he  measured  it  out 
in  a  tin  cup  that  wouldn't  hold  much  more'n  a  half-pint 
and  called  each  cupful  a  pound.  Next  morning  we  had 
fry-pan  bread  and  bacon  for  breakfast.  To  make  the 
bread  I  stirred  up  the  flour  with  a  little  yeast  powder 
and  cold  water.  Then  I  greased  the  fry-pan  with  a 
piece  of  bacon,  turned  in  the  dough,  and  spread  it  out 
over  the  bottom.  It  rose  and  filled  the  pan,  and  when 
I  got  it  well  fried  on  one  side,  I  flopped  it  over  to  give 
the  other  side  a  chance. 

"  I  sold  my  potatoes  in  Helena  to  two  grocery  houses 
at  fifty-two  cents  a  pound,  and  got  a  whole  bootleg  full 
of  gold  dust  for  them.  Gold  dust  was  the  common  cur- 
rency in  the  mining  country,  and  everybody  had  a  pair 
of  balance  scales  for  weighing  it.  No  one  would  think 
of  buying  or  selling  anything  for  less  than  twenty-five 
cents.  Now  the  minimum  price  is  five  cents,  and  I 
think  that's  low  enough.  I  went  into  a  store  in  town 
the  other  day  and  they  gave  me  two  of  those  blame 
pennies  in  change.  They  were  a  nuisance.  Some  of 
the  big  stores  for  an  advertisement  are  shoving  pennies 
out  all  the  time.  The  merchants  make  a  price  with  odd 
cents  to  have  it  appear  they've  trimmed  the  profit  to  the 


212    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

limit,  but  the  next  week  they  cut  the  price  previously 
made  twenty  per  cent  and  are  getting  rich  even  then. 

"  Potatoes  hadn't  been  seen  in  Helena  for  a  long  time, 
and  the  people  were  hungry  for  'em.  I  saw  a  man  pick 
out  a  good  big  one  and  ask  the  price.  The  merchant 
weighed  it  and  said,  'Just  a  dollar.' 

"So  the  fellow  handed  over  the  cash  and  went  off 
with  the  potato  in  his  pocket.  For  that  year's  crop  of 
potatoes  and  onions  I  got  sixteen  thousand  dollars. 

"Potatoes  were  a  luxury  and  so  were  most  other 
things,  but  I  think  we  were  worst  off  in  the  matter  of 
tobacco.  It  was  so  costly  that  if  a  man  had  a  little  in 
his  pocket  he  wouldn't  take  it  out  in  public  for  fear 
someone  would  ask  him  for  a  chew;  but  he'd  go  way 
off  on  the  prairie  to  take  a  bite.  Often  you  couldn't 
get  any  but  mouldy,  strong  old  stuff  that  they  called 
Indian  tobacco,  because  it  was  chiefly  used  in  trading 
with  the  Indians  for  furs. 

"It  was  only  the  first  year  that  potatoes  were  a  bo- 
nanza for  me.  A  while  afterward  I  tried  dairying  and 
kept  thirty  or  forty  cows.  The  butter  sold  for  a  dollar 
and  a  quarter  a  pound;  but  later  the  price  dropped  to 
six  bits,  and  I  wouldn't  bother  with  the  cows  any  more. 

"One  season  I  joined  a  freighting  outfit.  There  were 
fifty  men  in  the  company.  I  had  six  yoke  of  oxen 
hitched  to  two  wagons,  one  wagon  trailing  behind  the 
other.  We'd  corral  the  wagons  at  night — arrange  'em 
in  a  circle  with  the  back  wheel  of  one  wagon  chained 


Mountain  and  Valley  in  Montana  213 

to  the  front  wheel  of  the  next.  If  it  was  in  a  place  where 
there  was  no  water,  and  the  cattle  would  be  inclined 
to  go  off  in  search  of  it  we'd  keep  'em  inside  the  circle 
of  the  wagons.  But  as  a  general  thing  we  night-herded 
'em — that  is,  let  'em  graze  with  three  men  watching, 
and  changed  the  guard  at  midnight.  The  first  part  of 
the  night  the  cattle  would  be  feeding  pretty  steady,  and 
after  that  they'd  lie  down  and  get  up  by  spells  and 
wander  over  quite  a  little  territory.  Once  when  we 
were  camped  at  Fort  Gilpin,  which  was  just  an  old 
stockade,  about  fifty  Indians,  each  lashed  onto  a  black 
horse  that  shone  like  a  raven,  came  sailing  over  the 
sagebrush.  They  wore  their  feather  bonnets  and  were 
smeared  with  red  and  yellow  war  paint.  One  of  our 
men  was  killed  and  a  couple  wounded,  and  the  savages 
got  away  with  sixty  of  our  cattle. 

"Another  time  I  saw  a  fight  between  two  parties  of 
Indians — probably  a  hundred  on  a  side.  They  were  a 
cowardly  outfit  and  would  just  circle  around  on  their 
ponies  and  yelp  as  they  approached  each  other.  But 
when  they  came  within  about  two  hundred  yards  they 
swerved  off.  They  were  always  on  the  move,  never  stop- 
ping for  a  moment.  I  could  see  their  arrows  glisten  in 
the  sun,  but  it  looked  like  they  didn't  get  near  enough 
to  kill  anyone.  I  believe  each  party  secured  one  scalp. 

"  Besides  Indians  to  keep  a  man  uneasy  there  were  a 
lot  of  bad  whites  who  floated  in  from  Nevada  and  Cal- 
ifornia, and  in  1864  the  road  agents  elected  their  chief 


214    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

as  sheriff  of  the  whole  territory.  They  were  going  to 
have  things  their  own  way,  but  a  Vigilant  Committee 
organized  and  hunted  him  out  and  hung  him.  He  was 
a  fine-looking  fellow,  as  smart  as  steel,  and  not  thirty 
years  of  age. 

"This  country  is  in  most  ways  all  right  now,  and  any 
industrious  man  of  good  habits  can  make  money  here. 
In  fact,  nearly  all  our  farmers  are  free  from  debt  and 
have  money  in  the  bank.  Isn't  it  astonishing  the 
changes  and  inventions  and  wonders  that  have  come  to 
pass  in  the  last  fifty  years.  If  a  man  at  the  beginning  of 
that  period  had  prophesied  what's  taken  place  they'd 
have  locked  him  up.  I'd  like  to  live  fifty  years  more 
just  to  see  how  things  would  be  then." 

NOTE. — Butte  is  interesting  to  the  traveller  as  the  greatest  silver- 
producing  center  in  the  United  States,  and  the  biggest  copper  mining 
camp  in  the  world.  It  has  but  a  single  industry,  and  every  inhabitant 
is  either  directly  connected  with  the  mines  or  in  some  way  caters  to  the 
wants  of  those  who  are  thus  employed.  The  region  has  a  somewhat 
sinister  aspect  due  to  the  fact  that  the  fumes  of  the  smelters  have 
blasted  nature's  greenery  for  ten  miles  around,  but  the  grandeur  of  the 
mountains  remains,  and  the  mine  dumps  and  tall  chimneys  on  the 
crests  of  the  hills  form  striking  features  of  the  landscape. 

A  more  attractive  phase  of  Montana  life  can  be  seen  by  descending 
the  mountains  to  the  eastward  and  visiting  the  beautiful  Gallatin 
Valley.  Bozeman  is  probably  the  pleasantest  stopping-place,  and  is 
a  good  center  from  which  to  make  expeditions  into  the  fine  surround- 
ing farming  country  or  to  the  glens  that  open  back  into  the  environ- 
ing hills. 


XII 

MAY    IN   THE    YELLOWSTONE 

THE  Yellowstone  National  Park  is  a  remnant  of 
the  untamed  wilderness  which  a  few  decades  ago 
included  all  the  country  west  of  the  Mississippi. 
It  is,  in  fact,  almost  the  only  easily  accessible  portion  of 
genuine  wilderness  now  left  to  us,  where  the  woods  and 
streams  and  the  creatures  that  inhabit  them  are  just  as 
they  would  be  in  undisturbed  nature.    There  are  other 
features,  to  be  sure,  that  give  it  individuality,  and  that 
have  made  its  fame  world-wide,  but  I  think  its  wild- 
ness  is  its  most  unique  charm. 

The  northern  gateway  is  the  favorite  entrance  for  the 
multitude  of  visitors  whom  the  Park  attracts,  and  there 
you  find  a  rude  little  town  named  Gardiner.  I  reached 
this  place  one  rainy  day  when  the  mountain  crests  and 
hilltops  around  were  hidden  by  the  overhanging  clouds, 
and  the  somberness  of  the  weather  made  the  hamlet 
appear  even  more  forlorn  than  usual.  Its  most  preten- 
tious portion  consisted  of  a  long  row  of  saloons  with  a 
few  stores  and  hotels  among  them,  lined  up  close  to  the 
Park  entrance.  They  were  all  of  wood,  and  only  a  story 
or  two  in  height.  The  helter-skelter  of  lesser  struc- 


21 6   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

tures  which  made  up  the  rest  of  the  town  stood  amid 
rocks  and  sagebrush,  and  many  of  them  had  log  walls. 
It  was  a  Wild  West  village,  seemingly  lying  in  wait 
there,  like  a  spider  alert  for  flies. 

The  tourist  season  was  still  a  fortnight  off,  though 
May  was  nearing  its  end;  for  the  Park  is  a  lofty  moun- 
tain fastness  where  winter  holds  sway  during  the  greater 
part  of  the  year.  I  could  therefore  only  find  a  public 
conveyance  for  the  five-mile  climb  from  Gardiner  to 
Mammoth  Hot  Springs.  The  vehicle  had  no  canopy, 
and  its  occupants  were  exposed  to  the  chilly  onset  of 
the  storm,  and  to  splashes  of  mud  from  the  wheels  and 
the  horses'  hoofs. 

My  fellow  passengers  were  three  Irish  stonemasons, 
who  talked  with  a  brogue  and  called  every  wild  creature 
they  saw  a  "son  of  a  gun,"  and  who  compared  the 
scenery  to  that  of  the  Lakes  of  Killarney  in  their  native 
Erin.  Our  road  followed  up  the  winding  valley  of  a 
mountain  stream  which  careered  down  its  rocky  chan- 
nel in  a  foaming  torrent.  As  we  went  higher  the  rain 
turned  to  snow,  and  we  had  around  us  lofty  whitened 
mountains  looming  dim  amid  the  falling  flakes;  and 
then  we  came  to  a  nook  in  the  upland  that  gave  footing 
for  a  hamlet  of  government  barracks,  hotels,  and  ac- 
cessory buildings. 

After  I  had  found  shelter  and  warmed  myself,  I  went 
for  a  walk  and  climbed  the  big  steep  hillside  near  by, 
where/or  a  half  mile  or  more  the  hot  springs  well  forth 


May  in  the  Yellowstone  217 

in  many  scattered  spots.  The  springs  are  not  simply 
hot  water  gushing  up  from  the  ground.  They  are 
architects  and  builders;  for  the  water  is  laden  with 
lime  which  forms  series  of  dainty  basins  rising  terrace 
on  terrace,  or  decorates  the  slopes  with  shelving  con- 
volutions that  in  places  drop  almost  perpendicularly, 
and  again  are  nearly  level.  Another  marvel  of  the  lime 
is  the  color.  Some  portions  of  the  formation  are  pure 
white,  and  some  are  gray  or  creamy,  while  still  others 
are  yellow,  orange,  or  deep  brown,  or  some  shade  of 
green.  These  fountains  with  the  dripping  rims,  though 
often  quite  massive,  are  not  very  permanent;  for  the 
limestone  is  soft,  and  when  a  spring  shifts  its  outlet  the 
abandoned  terrace  soon  begins  to  crack  and  crumble. 
But  so  long  as  a  basin  is  supplied  with  the  subterranean 
water  its  contour  is  unfailingly  graceful,  and  even  the 
details  are  very  charming  in  their  flutings  and  corruga- 
tions. Sometimes  the  water  boiled  with  a  bubbling 
vigor,  but  as  a  rule  it  gently  simmered.  Here  was  a 
nectar  of  nature's  brewing  in  chaliced  cups  of  a  size 
suited  to  the  gods  and  goddesses  of  mythology.  The 
steaming  contents,  delicately  blue  in  tint,  were  ap- 
parently just  warm  enough  to  be  satisfying  and 
comforting. 

In  the  neighborhood  of  the  springs  the  snowflakes 
melted  as  fast  as  they  fell,  and  numbers  of  robins  and 
other  birds  hopped  around  on  the  bare  spots  as  if  to 
warm  their  feet.  The  air  was  gray  with  the  storm,  and 


218   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

I  could  barely  see  the  mountains  looming  roundabout. 
Near  at  hand  were  occasional  straggling  clumps  of  ever- 
green trees  adorned  with  spotless  festoons  of  snow;  and 
the  white  earth,  and  the  silence,  broken  only  by  the  soft 
rustle  of  falling  flakes  and  the  equally  soft  bubbling 
and  steaming  of  the  springs,  was  full  of  mystery.  Once 
a  jack  rabbit  leaped  nimbly  away,  and  again  and  again 
a  squad  of  deer  rambled  across  my  path. 

The  next  morning  the  storm  was  nearly  over,  and 
when  I  looked  out  of  my  window  at  the  hotel  I  saw  the 
footprints  of  a  bear  in  the  snow  down  below,  and  noticed 
that  the  creature  had  tipped  over  some  garbage  barrels 
at  the  back  door.  An  hour  later,  when  I  started  on  a 
twenty-mile  walk  to  the  Norris  Geyser  Basin,  the  sun 
was  breaking  through  the  clouds,  and  the  snow  on  the 
evergreen  boughs  was  beginning  to  drip.  The  birds 
were  singing,  and  as  I  plodded  along  the  deer  looked 
inquiringly  at  me  from  the  roadside  thickets,  and  in 
one  of  the  high  meadows  I  saw  two  or  three  herds  of  elk. 

For  the  first  part  of  the  way  there  were  wild  canyons 
that  yawned  beside  the  trail,  and  great  mountain  cliffs, 
but  later  the  route  was  rather  monotonous  forest  with 
here  and  there  an  open  glade  or  a  little  lake.  The  snow 
lay  six  or  eight  inches  deep,  and  it  was  slow  work  toiling 
along  the  unbroken  roadway.  At  length  I  met  a 
mounted  soldier,  and  later  two  government  mule  teams, 
and  the  path  they  broke  through  the  snow  made  the 
walking  somewhat  easier.  Yet  the  muddiness  increased, 


May  in  the  Yellowstone 

and  the  endless  slop,  slop,  slop  of  my  footfalls  was  de- 
cidedly wearisome.  I  appreciated  the  companionable 
mileposts  by  which  I  was  able  to  measure  my  progress. 
Nor  could  I  complain  of  the  road,  except  for  the  snow 
and  mud.  It  receives  the  best  of  care  from  the  govern- 
ment, and  in  the  dry  days  of  midsummer  a  score  or  two 
of  sprinklers,  just  such  as  one  sees  on  the  city  streets, 
are  busy  laying  the  dust,  each  going  over  an  allotted 
distance. 

One  of  the  wayside  streams  was  interrupted  by  fre- 
quent snaggy  beaver  dams.  The  beavers  have  become 
numerous  in  the  Park  during  recent  years;  but  they 
prey  on  the  fish  too  ravenouslyto  be  altogether  desirable. 

As  I  weitf  on  signs  of  the  underworld  heat  that  pro- 
duces so  many  curious  spectacles  in  the  region  were 
increasingly  frequent.  Here  and  there  were  blasted 
patches  of  ground  where  a  hot  spring  welled  up,  or 
where  steam  issued  from  holes  and  crevices,  or  perhaps 
there  was  simply  a  belching  of  sulphurous  fumes.  At 
one  point  was  the  "Frying  Pan" — a  muddy  hollow 
containing  several  shallow  pools  in  a  constant  sizzle, 
from  which  a  succession  of  big  bubbles  were  floating 
away  down  a  tiny  rill.  Another  striking  sight  was  what 
appeared  to  be  a  burning  mountain  with  many  shreds 
of  smoke  rising  from  among  the  trees  that  had  been 
killed  by  the  fumes  and  heat;  and  thence  came  a  medley 
of  muffled  rasping  sounds  as  if  the  gnomes  were  run- 
ning a  sawmill  in  the  depths  of  the  earth. 


22O   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

When  I  reached  Norris  I  found  a  barren  circular 
valley  full  of  bubbling  water-holes  and  spouting  foun- 
tains. Drifting  steam  was  rising  from  these  and  from 
many  pools  and  hot  streams,  and  from  cauldrons  of 
mud  at  the  borders  of  the  Basin,  and  the  air  was  laden 
with  stifling  odors.  Perhaps  the  most  appalling  feature 
was  a  blast  of  steam  that  comes  with  terrific  force  from 
a  red-throated  crevice.  Its  hoarse  voice  thrills  the  valley 
unceasingly.  Many  of  the  water-holes  erupt  at  more  or 
less  regular  intervals.  Up  goes  a  burst  of  water  accom- 
panied by  clouds  of  steam,  but  the  tumult  is  soon  over, 
and  the  fountain  subsides  to  prepare  for  a  new  explo- 
sion. There  are  several  other  geyser  clusters  farther 
south,  and  it  is  at  one  of  these  known  as  the  Upper 
Basin  that  the  geysers  are  seen  at  their  best.  Here  is 
Old  Faithful  which  spouts  every  hour,  and  the  water 
column  is  thrown  over  one  hundred  feet  in  the  air, 
retains  its  height  a  few  moments,  and  then  after  many 
weakening  rallies  sinks  hissing  and  rumbling  into  its 
brown  cone,  leaving  all  the  rocky  earth  about  glistening 
and  steaming  with  the  hot  water.  Of  course  such  a 
spectacle  is  impressive,  and  so  are  all  the  other  varied 
manifestations  of  subterranean  power,  yet  much  of  this 
is  not  beautiful,  but  simply  uncanny. 

Most  of  the  Park  consists  of  a  high  plateau  near  the 
backbone  of  the  continent  that  averages  seven  thousand 
five  hundred  feet  above  the  sea  level.  The  tourist  sea- 
son ends  September  I5th,  and  winter  soon  puts  a  stop 


An  upland  brook 


May  in  the  Yellowstone  221 

to  all  wagon  travel.  At  Norris,  the  big  hotel  was  still 
vacant  except  for  the  family  of  the  winter  keeper,  the 
members  of  which  had  led  a  lonely  life  for  the  last  few 
months.  "  But  the  snow  was  less  deep  than  usual," 
said  the  keeper  as  we  sat  by  the  fire  in  the  evening. 
"We  only  had  four  feet  on  a  level,  and  we  got  our  mail 
mighty  near  every  week.  The  keepers  farther  in  the 
Park  didn't  fare  so  well,  especially  the  man  at  the 
Canyon.  There's  only  him  and  his  wife,  and  he  didn't 
have  any  soldiers  stationed  close  by  to  keep  him  com- 
pany like  we  do.  None  of  us  can  find  much  work  to  be 
busy  about,  and  those  two  pretty  near  went  crazy. 
What  we  fear  most  is  sickness.  A  year  ago  a  keeper's 
wife  was  sick,  and  the  soldiers  put  her  on  a  toboggan 
and  dragged  her  down  to  Mammoth  Springs. 

"Everybody  goes  on  skees  here  in  winter.  I  can  get 
into  a  sweat  on  those  even  with  the  thermometer  fifty 
below  zero.  They  work  good  when  it's  cold.  The  snow 
won't  stick  to  nothin'  then,  but  a  good  many  days  it 
softens  some,  and  then  we  can  only  use  skees  to  advan- 
tage early  in  the  morning  or  late  in  the  afternoon." 

I  spoke  to  the  keeper  about  some  of  the  animals  I  had 
seen,  and  of  the  numerous  footprints  of  wild  creatures 
I  had  observed  in  the  snow  and  mud.  "Yes,"  he  said, 
"we  have  here  about  every  animal  that'll  live  in  a  cold 
climate — bears  and  buffaloes,  moose,  wildcats,  lynx, 
badgers,  big-horns,  red,  black,  blue,  and  silver  foxes, 
mountain  lions,  eagles,  and  lots  of  other  creatures.  They 


222    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

claim  there  ain't  any  wolves;  but  I  think  I  saw  one  once. 
He  snapped  his  jaw  at  me  and  run  off,  but  it  was  in  a 
snowstorm,  and  I  didn't  see  him  real  plain.  The  gov- 
ernment tries  to  kill  off  any  such  animals  that  are  very 
destructive  to  the  other  creatures.  Mountain  lions  are 
bad  that  way.  They  ketch  a  good  many  of  our  deer  and 
elk.  I  suppose  there's  quite  a  lot  of  'em  in  the  park; 
but  you  might  stay  here  a  hundred  years  and  never  see 
one — they're  just  that  sly.  However,  they  see  you  and 
will  follow  you,  stopping  when  you  stop  and  going  on 
when  you  go  on. 

"Nearly  all  the  animals  are  much  more  plenty  than 
they  were  when  I  began  living  in  the  Park  in  1883.  I 
didn't  see  any  deer  for  a  long  time.  They  were  so  wild 
they  kept  back  in  the  woods.  Now  they're  so  tame  I 
often  feed  'em  out  of  my  hand.  One  of  the  most 
interesting  things  I  know  of  is  to  see  a  deer  kill  a  snake. 
It  will  leap  into  the  air,  put  all  four  feet  within  a  few 
inches  of  each  other  and  light  on  the  snake  so  quick 
that  the  snake  don't  know  what's  happened.  The  deer 
is  off  at  once,  and  then  makes  the  same  kind  of  a  jump 
again  and  again,  till  its  sharp  hoofs  cut  the  snake  right 
in  two.  A  deer  will  kill  every  snake  it  comes  across. 

"One  queer  creature  we  have  in  the  Park  is  a  wood 
rat — a  tremendous  big  fellow  with  a  flat  tail  as  large 
around  as  your  finger.  It  likes  to  beat  on  the  floor  with 
that  tail,  and  makes  as  much  noise  as  you  could  with  a 
stick.  For  a  nesting  place  it  prefers  some  dark  loft 


May  in  the  Yellowstone  223 

where  it  uses  all  sorts  of  rubbish  in  building  a  nest  that 
would  fill  a  barrel.  Whatever  it  can  get  hold  of  that  is 
not  too  heavy  or  bulky  it  carries  off.  We  might  leave 
our  shoes  and  socks  here  by  the  stove,  and  perhaps  one 
of  those  rats  would  carry  'em  off.  But  the  chances  are, 
if  it  wasn't  disturbed,  it  would  bring  'em  back  the  next 
night. 

"The  worst  nuisance  we  have  though  in  the  way  of 
wild  varmints  is  the  bears.  They're  raising  Cain  all 
the  time,  and  there's  getting  to  be  lots  of  'em.  The 
grizzlies  are  the  bosses.  When  a"  bunch  of  the  cinna- 
mons and  blacks  are  together  at  a  hotel  garbage  heap 
they  all  get  up  and  run  fit  to  kill  themselves  if  a  grizzly 
comes  around.  Some  of  the  bears  are  big  fellows  that 
have  a  footprint  the  size  of  a  pan.  About  this  time  of 
year  they're  beginning  to  fish  in  the  small  streams. 
They'll  lie  down  at  the  edge  of  the  water  and  watch 
perfectly  still,  and  then  give  a  slap  that'll  throw  a  trout 
way  out  on  the  land. 

"They  make  lots  of  trouble  for  tourists  with  tents  and 
wagons.  I  was  camping  in  the  Park  one  time,  and  a 
bear  smelt  my  provisions  and  come  right  after  'em.  It 
was  night  and  dark,  and  every  time  I  heard  the  bear 
prowling  around  I'd  throw  something  at  it,  and  I  had 
to  spend  all  the  next  day  picking  up  the  articles  I'd  used 
for  bombarding  the  creature. 

"I  used  to  have  a  mule  that  liked  nothing  better  than 
to  chase  a  bear  up  a  tree.  Then  he'd  back  up  to  the 


224   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

foot  of  the  tree  and  wait  for  a  chance  to  kick  the  bear 
when  it  came  down.  Oh,  the  mules  like  to  fight  a  bear. 
They'll  run  one  off  into  the  timber  any  time. 

"The  bears  are  not  at  all  dangerous  as  a  general 
thing.  I  threw  a  stone  at  one  the  other  day,  and  whop! 
it  hit  him  a  bat  side  of  the  head,  and  away  he  went. 
Sometimes  I've  caught  a  bear  by  the  tail  when  he  had 
his  head  in  a  slop  can.  He'd  leave  the  can  in  a  hurry 
and  start  for  the  woods,  and  perhaps  I'd  chase  him 
about  half  a  mile  just  for  fun.  But  if  the  bear  stopped, 
I'd  go  the  other  way.  One  night  I  opened  the  door  to 
go  out  and  almost  tumbled  over  a  grizzly  with  eyes  as 
big  as  dinner  plates.  I  tell  you  I  broke  and  run  into  the 
house  over  the  tables  and  chairs  and  things.  Unless  I 
can  see  and  have  a  notion  of  what  a  bear  is  planning  to 
do,  I  don't  take  any  chances  monkeying  with  him. 

"You  want  to  look  out  about  coming  to  close  quarters 
with  a  bear  that  has  cubs.  If  you  get  between  a  cub  and 
its  mother,  the  first  thing  you  know  the  old  bear  is  onto 
you,  and  you  don't  last  long.  There  was  a  tourist  come 
to  the  Park  once  makin'  his  brag  that  he  was  goin'  to 
have  his  hands  on  a  bear.  That's  a  kind  of  hobby  with 
some  people — they  want  to  get  their  hands  on  a  bear. 
The  men  here  told  him  he'd  better  not,  but  that  didn't 
make  any  difference.  So  one  day  he  and  his  wife  saw 
a  bear  with  two  cubs,  and  they  gave  chase.  One  cub 
ran  up  a  tree,  and  the  man  touched  it  as  it  was  climbing. 
He'd  succeeded  in  his  stunt,  but  the  old  bear  didn't  know 


May  in  the  Yellowstone  225 

that  was  the  end  of  the  game.  She  went  for  him  and 
knocked  him  down.  His  wife  drove  the  bear  off  with  a 
club,  but  the  man  was  clawed  up  so  bad  he  died  soon 
after  he  returned  to  his  home  in  the  East. 

"Another  fellow  who  had  a  hankering  to  put  his 
hands  on  a  bear  was  a  Chinaman  cook  up  at  the  Lake 
Hotel.  If  a  bear  happened  around  when  he  was  off 
duty  he'd  go  and  chase  it.  I  was  in  the  woods  up  in  that 
region  one  time  when  I  heard  a  bear  comin'  rippity- 
dash  through  the  timber,  and  it  was  sure  tearin'  up 
the  brush;  and  behind  it  was  the  Chinaman  hollerin' 
'Hoop!  hoop!  hoop!'  The  bear  started  up  a  tree,  and 
the  Chink  grabbed  it  by  a  hind  leg.  But  the  bear  turned 
and  gave  him  a  swipe  with  its  paw  that  cut  his  arm 
plumb  to  the  bone.  He'll  carry  the  scar  to  his  grave." 

The  keeper's  wife  had  joined  us  while  we  were  talk- 
ing, and  she  now  remarked:  "I  think  bear  meat  is  just 
lovely.  I'd  as  soon  have  it  as  the  best  pork  that  ever 
was.  In  fact,  I'd  rather  have  it,  because  pork,  you 
know,  is  apt  not  to  lay  good  on  your  stomach,  but  bear 
meat  never  troubles  you  that  way,  no  matter  how  much 
you  eat." 

"I  wish  they'd  let  us  shoot  a  few  of  these  bears,"  said 
the  keeper.  "But  the  government  is  very  strict  about 
prohibiting  the  use  of  firearms  by  anyone  except  the 
soldiers.  It's  strict  in  a  good  many  other  ways,  too. 
People  are  not  allowed  to  soap  the  geysers  or  to  carry 
away  souvenirs  the  way  they  used  to." 


226    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

"There's  one  family  I  know,"  said  Mrs.  Keeper, 
"that  has  a  piece  of  lime  deposit  they  took  from  up  by 
the  lake  in  the  early  days,  and  it's  as  big  as  a  stove." 

"  But  they  couldn't  have  carried  away  such  a  piece," 
objected  the  keeper.  "They  couldn't  come  in  herewith 
wagons.  There  were  no  more  roads  than  a  jack 
rabbit  has." 

"Oh — get  out!"  retorted  the  lady.  "What's  the 
matter  with  you  ?  All  the  old-timers  went  through  here 
with  wagons,  though  maybe  that  piece  wasn't  quite  as 
large  as  I  said." 

"Anyhow,"  resumed  the  keeper,  "it  got  so  people 
would  lug  off  anything  they  could  carry,  and  the  gov- 
ernment made  'em  quit.  Soaping  the  geysers  was  an- 
other freak  of  the  public.  If  soap  was  thrown  in,  it 
seemed  to  stir  'em  up  and  make  'em  spout.  The  largest 
geyser  in  the  Park  was  ruined  by  a  dose  of  soap  which 
a  soldier  gave  it,  and  which  resulted  in  its  blowing  to 
pieces.  Then  there  was  a  Chinaman  who  had  a  laundry 
in  a  tent  at  the  Upper  Basin.  He  emptied  his  soapsuds 
where  they  ran  into  a  geyser,  and  the  geyser  exploded 
after  a  while  and  blew  up  the  fellow's  tent." 

The  longest  walk  I  made  while  in  the  Park  was  from 
Norris  to  the  Canyon.  Including  the  various  asides,  I 
covered  that  day  twenty-six  miles.  The  jaunt,  when  I 
set  out,  promised  to  be  exceptionally  fatiguing;  for  the 
snow  lay  deep,  and  at  every  step  I  broke  through  a 
crust  that  had  formed  during  the  night.  But  I  soon  got 


May  in  the  Yellowstone  227 

into  a  path  made  by  two  bears  which  had  followed  the 
road,  one  behind  the  other,  almost  the  entire  distance 
to  the  Canyon.  The  imprint  of  their  broad  feet  was 
clearly  marked  and  had  a  savagely  human  aspect.  I 
decided  to  give  the  creatures  the  road  if  I  chanced  to 
meet  them,  and  that  I  would  climb  a  tree  if  they  were 
inclined  to  cultivate  my  acquaintance.  But  probably 
they  would  have  made  as  hasty  a  detour  as  any  I  con- 
templated. At  least,  two  grizzlies  which  I  attempted  to 
approach  one  evening  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  hotel 
where  I  was  stopping,  promptly  scampered  off  into  the 
brush  with  just  such  snorts  of  alarm  as  a  hog  makes 
when  suddenly  frightened  into  flight. 

The  road  that  the  bears  and  I  followed  was,  for  much 
of  the  distance,  an  avenue  through  the  sober  pine  forest. 
I  was  in  a  howling  wilderness,  if  ever  there  was  one, 
but  the  nearest  approach  to  howling  that  I  heard  was 
the  sonorous  honking  of  wild  geese.  From  the  marshes 
came  the  stuttering  notes  of  a  multitude  of  frogs.  Sev- 
eral times  I  heard  partridges  heralding  the  spring  with 
the  resonant  roll  of  their  drums,  and  once  in  a  while  I 
would  see  a  chipmunk  scudding  timidly  across  the 
snow,  or  a  squirrel  would  chatter  at  me  and  accuse  me 
of  being  an  undesirable  citizen  of  the  forest. 

The  winter  keeper  at  the  Canyon  Hotel  welcomed  me 
cordially,  for  it  had  been  a  long  time  since  he  had  seen 
anyone  from  the  outside  world.  He  was  a  young  man, 
but  decidedly  bald,  which  he  took  pains  to  explain  was 


228   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

because  he  found  it  convenient  one  summer  to  wash 
his  head  daily  in  a  hot  spring.  "And  that  sulphur  water 
takes  your  hair  out  all  right,"  said  he — "kills  it  dead  as 
a  doornail." 

We  went  together  to  view  the  Canyon.  This  is  un- 
doubtedly the  finest  scenic  attraction  of  the  Park.  It 
is  a  narrow  glen  worn  more  than  a  thousand  feet  deep 
in  the  many-tinted  rocks,  and  graced  with  a  noble 
waterfall.  The  long  leap  of  the  stream,  and  the  beauti- 
ful color  and  imposing  depth  of  the  chasm,  combine  to 
make  the  waterfall  one  of  the  most  notable  of  which 
America  can  boast.  My  guide  as  he  looked  down  from 
the  verge  of  a  crag  on  the  warm-toned  rocks  of  the  tre- 
mendous ravine  said:  "There's  all  kinds  of  gold  in 
that  Canyon." 

Surely  the  color  might  lead  one  to  infer  as  much;  but 
why  dream  here  of  wealth,  except  that  conferred  by  the 
golden  inspiration  of  the  scene  ?  It  was  quite  warm 
there  in  the  glen,  and  the  snow  was  gone  except  for 
remnants  of  drifts.  "  This  is  the  tail-end  of  our  winter," 
said  the  keeper;  "but  we  are  never  sure  of  steady  hot 
weather.  There's  liable  to  be  a  cold  snap  and  snow- 
squalls  at  almost  any  time.  That's  a  thing  the  tourists 
from  lower,  warmer  sections  of  the  country  are  apt  not 
to  think  of,  and  lots  of  'em  come  here  with  nothin'  on 
and  really  suffer." 

It  is  possible  to  make  the  tour  of  the  Park  in  several 
different  ways.  To  walk  is  ideal  for  a  few,  to  take  the 


The  falls  in  the  canyon 


May  in  the  Yellowstone  229 

regular  lines  of  coaches  is  best  for  the  majority,  and  an 
occasional  party  will  prefer  to  go  with  its  own  team  and 
tenting  outfit.  While  I  was  on  the  train,  after  leaving 
the  Yellowstone,  a  Wyoming  man  who  had  made  a 
rustic  trip  to  the  Park  in  1895  gave  me  an  account  of 
his  experiences.  "There  were  two  of  us,"  said  he — 
"  an  old  Texas  soldier  and  me.  He  furnished  the  wagon 
and  horses,  and  I  furnished  the  grub.  We  went  right 
through  the  mountains  to  the  Park  from  the  eastern 
part  of  the  state,  and  we  got  to  her  about  the  middle  of 
summer.  I  made  a  mistake  in  my  pardner.  He  was  an 
old  crank  who  didn't  care  for  no  natural  scenery.  The 
only  thing  he  wanted  to  do  was  to  kill  antelope.  So  he 
was  shooting  'em  all  the  way — that  is,  he  shot  at  'em- 
he  didn't  get  'em.  But  when  we  reached  the  Park  the 
guards  took  his  gun  away.  There  was  nothing  he  was 
interested  in  after  that,  and  he  didn't  want  to  stop  any- 
where. I  was  bound  to  make  the  tour,  though,  and  he 
spent  most  of  the  time  lying  around  camp.  I'd  liked  to 
have  had  an  educated  man  with  me  who  had  some  sense 
and  would  have  reasoned  with  me  about  what  we  saw. 

"Well,  we  went  all  around.  Those  hot  springs  are  a 
wonder,  ain't  they?  and  oh  my!  ain't  the  falls  at  the 
Canyon  grand  ?  While  I  was  at  the  Norris  Basin  some 
of  the  tourists  came  in  their  fine  coaches;  and  the  ground 
there,  where  the  hot  water  holes  and  geysers  are,  looked 
so  shaky  they  wouldn't  venture  out  on  it.  But  I  did, 
and  I  says  to  'em:  'This  may  be  more  risky  than  I 


230   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

think,  and  if  I  break  through  into  the  infernal  regions 
underneath  I  wish  you'd  write  and  tell  my  wife  what 
has  become  of  me.' 

"The  paint  pots  are  kind  of  dangerous  to  fool  around, 
too.  And  how  did  that  mud  geyser  suit  you  ?  It  has  the 
darndest  smell  of  any  hole  in  the  Park.  I  seen  Old 
Faithful  spout,  and  lots  of  others.  In  particular  I 
remember  the  Giantess.  She's  a  dandy  fine  one!  Say! 
but  what  splendid  fishing  there  is  in  the  Park!  Near 
the  outlet  of  the  lake  I  found  the  best  place  to  ketch  trout 
that  ever  was  heard  of.  I  could  stand  and  pull  a  fish  out 
of  one  stream,  and  without  moving  a  step  or  taking  him 
off  my  line  flop  him  over  into  a  hot  stream  and  scald  him 
ready  to  eat— yes,  you  bet  your  life!  There's  no  ques- 
tion about  some  of  that  Park  water  being  hot.  I  often 
wrapped  eggs  in  a  cloth  and  putt  'em  in  a  stream  or  pool 
to  boil.  The  only  fault  I  found  with  the  trip  was  the 
kind  of  man  I  had  with  me.  When  we  got  ready  to 
leave  I  told  him  he  could  drive  his  team  home,  and  I 
went  along  by  train." 

No  doubt  a  sympathetic  companion  is  a  matter  of 
great  importance  in  contributing  to  one's  enjoyment  of 
the  Park.  Yet  even  an  unsatisfactory  comrade  cannot 
wholly  dull  its  charm,  as  was  proved  in  the  case  of  the 
man  I  have  been  quoting.  At  the  time  I  met  him  he 
was  returning  home  after  a  long  absence  to  attend  the 
funeral  of  his  wife.  In  spite  of  his  loss,  though  this  was 
sufficiently  saddening  when  he  happened  to  think  of  it, 


May  in  the  Yellowstone  231 

he  was  full  of  jovial  enthusiasm  as  he  recalled  those 
wonderful  days  in  the  Yellowstone  Park.  They  had 
left  delightful  memories  which  would  stay  with  him 
the  rest  of  his  life,  and  his  experience  in  this  respect  is 
the  usual  one  of  visitors  to  that  wonderland. 

NOTE. — The  railways  afford  an  entrance  to  the  Park  from  the  north 
at  Gardiner,  and  from  the  west  at  Yellowstone.  Usually  the  tour  of 
the  Park  itself  is  made  by  stage.  In  a  general  way,  the  route  consists 
•  of  a  circle  in  the  center  of  the  area,  and  it  covers  only  a  small  portion 
of  the  sixty-two  miles  length  and  fifty-four  miles  width  of  the  entire 
Park.  But  this  is  the  "heart  of  wonderland,"  and  what  lies  beyond 
is  largely  variations  of  the  same  themes  as  are  to  be  found  along  the 
main  thoroughfare.  It  takes  at  least  six  days  to  go  over  the  route 
comfortably,  and  more  time  can  be  spent  to  advantage.  But  better  a 
hasty  trip  of  two  or  three  days  than  to  miss  the  Park  altogether.  Visit 
at  least  the  Mammoth  Hot  Springs,  one  of  the  geyser  basins  and  the 
Grand  Canyon;  and  in  doing  this  you  will  see  much  that  is  delightful 
along  the  way. 

The  Park  is  especially  attractive  as  a  summer  resort  because  the 
days  are  never  oppressively  warm,  and  the  nights  are  always  cool. 
Its  fine  roads  afford  the  best  of  opportunities  for  horseback  rides,  there 
is  splendid  trout-fishing,  and  you  can  indulge  in  mountain-climbing 
and  camping  to  your  heart's  content.  You  will,  of  course,  be  interested 
in  the  remnants  of  volcanic  action  dying  out  in  geysers,  pots  of  boiling 
mud,  and  earth-rents  hoarsely  discharging  their  sulphurous  steam. 
But  of  all  the  Park's  attractions  I  would  rank  highest  the  chance  to 
see  the  wild  creatures  of  the  forest.  Here  they  are  protected  from  the 
attacks  of  the  hunters;  and  even  the  buffalo — that  nearly  extinct 
monarch  of  the  plains — draws  about  him  in  security  the  pitiful  rem- 
nant of  his  once  mighty  herd.  Two  companies  of  United  States  cav- 
alry are  stationed  in  the  Park  to  prevent  the  spreading  of  forest  fires 
and  the  commission  of  acts  of  vandalism. 

One  should  be  prepared  for  sudden  changes  of  weather  and  altitude. 
It  is  well  to  have  wraps  at  hand  such  as  shawls  and  light  overcoats. 


232    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

Thick-soled  shoes  for  walking  are  desirable,  and  indeed  are  al- 
most a  necessity  at  the  Mammoth  Hot  Springs  and  among  the  geysers 
where  numerous  tiny  streams  of  hot  water  are  sure  to  be  encountered. 
Colored  spectacles  and  a  pair  of  opera  glasses  will  often  add  greatly 
to  the  pleasure  of  a  trip. 


XIII 

CUSTER'S  LAST  BATTLEFIELD 

FEW  events  in  the  great  Northwest  have  been  more 
tragic  and  melancholy  than  the  encounter  be- 
tween the  gallant  Custer  and  the  Indians  late  in 
June,  1876.  Not  one  of  the  whites  escaped  to  tell  the 
story,  and  all  we  have  learned  of  the  details,  except 
what  the  battlefield  itself  discloses,  has  come  from  the 
hostile  red  men.  The  struggle  took  place  in  southern 
Montana,  not  far  from  what  is  now  the  village  of 
the  Crow  Agency.  Through  the  lowlands  flows  the 
winding,  tree-fringed  Little  Bighorn  River,  and  on  the 
broad  alluvial  lowlands  are  many  small  farmhouses 
and  fertile  grain-fields  belonging  to  the  Indians. 

Between  the  Agency  and  the  battlefield,  a  distance  of 
three  miles,  is  a  level  stretch  of  pasturage  where  a  few 
horses  are  usually  to  be  seen  grazing.  Then  you  come 
to  hills  rising  in  a  long  and  often  steep  sweep  to  a  high 
ridge  that  overlooks  all  the  country  for  miles  around. 
Along  this  ridge  the  battle  was  fought.  It  is  a  dreary 
spot,  entirely  devoid  of  trees  or  other  marked  features. 
The  soil  is  full  of  small  stones  scantily  hidden  by  growths 
of  sagebrush,  prickly  pear,  and  tufts  of  coarse  grass. 


234   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

The  other  ridges  of  the  region  have  the  same  character, 
but  on  the  western  horizon  lies  a  low  range  of  blue 
mountains,  and  the  strip  of  valley  bordering  the  stream 
is  vernal  and  inviting. 

For  a  mile  along  the  hillcrest  is  a  scattering  of  white 
gravestones,  each  marking  the  spot  where  a  soldier's 
body  was  found.  Some  of  these  occur  in  groups,  others 
singly,  and  they  are  a  pathetic  indication  of  the  fierce 
struggle  of  the  troops  to  defend  and  disentangle  them- 
selves from  the  clutch  of  their  savage  enemies.  Occa- 
sional stones  are  far  down  among  the  steep-sided  coulees 
that  furrow  the  rough  slope,  as  if  the  men  had  made 
sorties  in  an  endeavor  to  reach  the  river.  No  water 
was  to  be  had  nearer,  and  the  lack  of  it  was  a  serious 
handicap. 

The  last  stand  was  made  just  under  the  western  brow 
of  the  extreme  north  end  of  the  ridge,  where  it  rises 
highest — a  cool  and  windy  spot  usually,  but  on  a  still 
summer  day  baking  hot.  Opposite  this  height,  on  the 
other  shore  of  the  river,  the  Indians  had  their  encamp- 
ments straggling  along  for  two  miles  or  more.  Each 
party  was  in  plain  viewof  the  other,  and  at  all  times  knew 
its  opponent's  movements  and  condition.  Custer  fell 
in  the  midst  of  his  men,  and  a  wooden  cross  marks  the 
location  where  his  body  was  found.  I  did  not  think 
this  rude  memorial  was  altogether  appropriate,  but 
nothing  is  safe  from  the  rapacity  of  the  relic-hunters, 


The  spot  where  Custer  fell 


Custer's  Last  Battlefield  235 

and  when  they  have  destroyed  one  cross  by  carrying 
it  off  splinter  by  splinter  another  can  be  set  up  in  its 
place  at  small  expense. 

The  general  opinion  of  the  people  in  the  Western 
country  seemed  to  be  that  Custer  made  a  foolhardy 
sacrifice  of  himself  and  his  men.  One  informant,  whose 
views  are  typical  of  those  I  usually  heard,  expressed 
himself  thus: 

"Custer  was  what  you  might  call  a  dude — more 
showy  than  practical;  but  for  dashing  bull-headed 
bravery  he  couldn't  be  beat.  If  there  was  fighting  he 
didn't  go  behind,  the  way  some  officers  do.  He'd  take 
the  lead;  and  he  didn't  have  no  more  use  for  an  Indian 
than  for  a  rattlesnake.  As  soon  as  he  saw  one  his  blood 
began  to  boil  and  he  was  bound  to  kill  him.  The  In- 
dians had  some  advantages,  though,  over  him  and  his 
men.  If  the  soldiers  were  to  cut  loose  from  their  feed 
wagons  they'd  perish.  Civilized  food  was  a  necessity, 
while  the  Indians  were  perfectly  free  to  go  where  they 
pleased  and  would  live  on  anything  they  could  get  hold 
of.  They  just  liked  to  be  chased  by  soldiers.  What  did 
Indians  care  for  them,  or  for  the  kids  from  the  hospital 
—West  Point — who  officered  them  ?  A  hundred  cow- 
punchers  were  worth  a  whole  regiment  of  soldiers,  and 
I'd  rather  have  had  'em — yes,  or  miners.  Cow-punch- 
ers and  miners  were  a  class  that  would  fight  any  blame 
man  in  those  days.  When  they  went  into  a  fight  they 
meant  business,  and  the  Sioux  had  a  great  fear  of  'em. 


236   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

"One  thing  that  perhaps  had  a  good  deal  to  do  with 
this  particular  battle  was  that  Custer  had  been  over- 
stepping the  mark  in  various  ways  so  that  he  was  out  of 
favor  with  some  of  the  higher  officers  and  the  authorities 
in  Washington.  He  wanted  to  regain  a  little  lost  pres- 
tige by  winning  a  spectacular  victory.  Orders  had  been 
given  to  fall  back,  if  he  discovered  the  enemy,  and  wait 
for  reinforcements.  But  he  didn't  do  that.  He  didn't 
even  reconnoiter  to  find  out  what  he  needed  to  do. 
There  was  no  attempt  at  stratagem,  and  it  is  stratagem 
that  counts  in  war.  He  was  too  hasty,  and  charged 
right  into  the  Indians  as  soon  as  he  came  in  sight  of 'em. 
It  was  his  intention  to  massacree  'em,  but  instead  of 
that  he  massacreed  his  own  men." 

The  records  hardly  bear  out  the  fairness  of  these  im- 
pressions. Custer's  orders  were  not  of  a  hard  and  fast 
sort,  and  they  left  nearly  everything  to  his  discretion. 
His  fatal  mistake  was  in  underestimating  the  strength 
of  the  enemy;  but  this  error  was  one  he  shared  in  com- 
mon with  all  the  other  commanders  in  the  expedition. 
The  war  originated  in  the  demand  that  certain  wild 
bands  of  the  Sioux  should  settle  down  on  the  reserva- 
tions under  the  control  of  the  Indian  Agent.  It  was  not 
supposed  that  these  wanderers  could  muster  more  than 
seven  hundred  warriors,  and  yet  Custer  encountered 
about  four  times  that  number,  including  boys  who  were 
armed  with  bows  and  arrows. 


Ouster's  Last  Battlefield  237 

The  campaign  opened  in  March  when  General 
Crook's  command  was  so  severely'  handled  that  he  felt 
obliged  to  retreat.  This  gave  the  Indians  confidence, 
and  great  numbers  slipped  away  from  the  agencies  to 
join  the  hostiles.  With  the  beginning  of  summer  the 
troops  were  again  in  motion,  and  Custer,  whose  com- 
mand consisted  of  six  hundred  men,  presently  got  on 
the  trail  of  the  enemy.  It  was  his  business  to  punish 
and  bring  them  to  terms,  and  he  knew  very  well  that  the 
Indians  have  no  fondness  for  pitched  battles.  Even 
with  the  odds  in  their  favor  they  prefer  to  scatter  and 
run  away.  The  only  chance  for  the  troops  to  effectively 
chastise  them  was  to  catch  them  unawares  and  strike 
quick  and  hard. 

On  the  morning  of  the  battle  the  approach  of  the 
soldiers  was  betrayed  by  the  cloud  of  dust  they  raised, 
for  the  weather  was  very  dry;  and  as  soon  as  Custer 
knew  that  he  was  discovered  he  had  his  men  move  for- 
ward with  haste.  They  were  then  on  the  banks  of  the 
Little  Bighorn>  and  a  portion  of  the  command,  under 
Major  Reno,  crossed  to  the  north  side  to  go  on  up  the 
valley  and  engage  the  Indians,  while  Custer  with  the 
rest,  numbering  about  two  hundred  and  fifty,  kept  to 
the  south  side  to  fall  on  the  enemy  from  a  different  direc- 
tion. It  was  then  nearly  noon.  Reno  had  not  gone  far 
when  he  was  brought  to  a  halt  by  the  foe,  who  assailed 
him  with  such  energy  that  in  a  good  deal  of  confusion 


238    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

he  retreated  and  soon  found  himself  besieged  on  one 
of  the  hilltops. 

With  the  first  knowledge  that  the  Indians  had  of  the 
approach  of  the  troops  they  began  preparations  to  break 
camp  and  fly;  but  when  Reno  was  driven  back  they 
took  courage  and  decided  to  delay  their  flight  until  the 
urgency  became  greater.  The  entire  fighting  force  then 
concentrated  their  attention  on  Custer,  leaving  Reno 
for  the  time  being  almost  unmolested.  Possibly,  had  he 
gone  to  his  superior's  aid,  the  fate  of  the  day  might  have 
been  changed,  but  he  seems  to  have  been  too  shaken  by 
what  had  already  occurred  to  make  the  attempt. 

Custer  had  moved  along  the  ridges  south  of  the  stream 
for  several  miles  before  the  Indians  attacked  him,  and 
he  was  not  backward  about  striking  in  return.  His 
opponents,  in  order  to  hide  their  own  movements  and 
drive  out  the  troops,  set  fire  to  the  grass.  This  helped 
develop  a  confusion  that  soon  put  the  whites  on  the 
defensive.  They  were  in  two  or  three  different  detach- 
ments, and  the  enemy  seems  to  have  dealt  with  these 
separately.  The  Indians  would  advance  under  cover 
of  the  slopes  far  enough  so  that  when  they  stood  erect 
they  could  see  the  troops,  but  were  protected  when 
squatting  or  lying  down.  By  rising  and  firing  quickly 
they  exposed  themselves  only  an  instant;  but  this  served 
to  draw  the  fire  of  the  soldiers  and  make  them  waste 
their  ammunition.  After  a  time  they  would  give  a  war- 


Ouster's  Last  Battlefield  239 

whoop  and  charge.  The  fight  was  not  long  drawn  out. 
Its  duration  was  only  a  few  hours  at  most,  and  it  came 
to  an  end  with  the  death  of  Custer  who,  fighting  to  the 
last  moment,  had  survived  all  his  comrades. 

The  Indians,  jubilant  with  victory,  yelled  and  revelled 
on  the  battlefield,  scalping  and  plundering  the  dead 
soldiers;  and  the  young  men  and  boys  rode  about  firing 
into  the  bodies.  When  darkness  came  they  lighted 
bonfires  in  their  encampments,  and  though  naturally 
economical  of  fuel,  they  did  not  stint  it  this  time,  and 
the  surrounding  hills  were  brightly  illumined.  All  night 
long  they  were  engaged  in  frantic  rejoicing,  beating 
drums,  dancing,  yelling,  and  discharging  firearms. 
The  next  day  they  attempted  again  to  overwhelm  Reno, 
but  he  had  rudely  fortified  himself  and  gotten  a  supply 
of  water,  and  he  successfully  resisted  the  fierce  attacks. 
Then,  fearing  the  approach  of  another  detachment  of 
troops,  the  entire  body  of  Indians  withdrew  into  the 
wilderness. 

The  Crow  Indians  who  dwell  in  the  vicinity  did  not 
join  forces  with  the  hostiles.  In  fact,  some  of  them  were 
scouting  for  Custer.  At  the  Crow  Agency  village  the 
inhabitants  are  mostly  whites  who  are  government  and 
railroad  employees,  but  the  red  men  are  always  much 
in  evidence,  coming  and  going.  I  found  it  rather  a 
charming  hamlet,  and  even  suggestive  in  a  mild  way  of 
an  historic  university  town;  for  a  number  of  good-sized 


240    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

school  buildings  fronted  on  a  grassy  common  of  ample 
area,  and  avenues  of  great  trees  arched  the  walks  and 
streets  and  grew  in  clumps  about  the  buildings.  So 
there  was  pleasant  shade,  and  a  dreamy  atmosphere  of 
serenity  and  refinement. 

Among  the  other  structures  was  a  two-story  wooden 
hotel,  very  like  any  country  hostelry,  except  that  the 
office  had  its  walls  papered  with  pictures,  most  of  them 
colored,  and  having  as  a  rule  Indian  scenes  for  their 
subjects.  Especially  conspicuous  in  this  art  collection 
were  two  oil  paintings  done  on  tin  that  had  served 
formerly  as  receptacles  for  kerosene.  They  were  about 
three  feet  square,  and  had  ponderous,  gaudy  frames. 
One  painting  was  of  an  Indian  chief  labelled,  "Little 
Dog,"  and  the  other  of  "  Bronco  Jim,"  a  wild,  bewhisk- 
ered  plainsman  with  his  teeth  showing,  and  a  knife 
raised  ominously  in  his  right  hand.  The  two  pictures 
were  really  fascinating  in  their  crude,  raw  ghastliness; 
and  it  seemed  perfectly  evident  that  some  aspiring  sav- 
age had  painted  them.  But  the  landlord  said:  "No, 
they  were  done  by  an  old  priest.  After  he  was  over 
eighty  and  about  ready  to  die  he  concluded  he'd  missed 
his  calling  and  started  in  to  be  an  artist.  So  he  got  some 
house  paint  in  different  colors,  and  flattened  out  some 
old  tin  cans  to  serve  instead  of  canvas  and  went  at  it. 
You  may  think  these  are  pictures  of  real  people,  but 
they're  ideals,  names  and  all." 


Custer's  Last  Battlefield  241 

The  Indian  children  are  gathered  in  at  the  school 
when  they  are  seven  years  of  age,  and  there  they  live. 
It  is  usual  to  keep  the  girls  till  they  are  eighteen,  unless 
they  leave  to  marry,  and  the  boys  stay  till  they  are 
twenty-one.  The  education  is  largely  industrial,  and 
an  attempt  is  made  to  give  the  students  civilized  habits 
of  home  life  both  indoors  and  out.  For  the  girls  there 
is  cooking,  washing,  sewing,  sweeping,  etc.,  and  for  the 
boys  work  in  the  barns  and  gardens  and  fields.  The 
boys  have  a  keen  liking  for  athletics,  and  their  baseball 
club  nearly  always  wins  in  the  match  games  with  the 
whites. 

Outside  of  the  village  the  long  sweep  of  fertile,  irri- 
gated valley  looks  quite  attractive,  and  the  many  herds 
of  horses  and  cattle  on  the  hills  seem  to  attest  the  pros- 
perity of  the  Indian  owners.  But  if  you  question  the 
white  men  who  live  in  the  neighborhood  concerning 
this  apparent  thrift  they  say:  "Only  about  one  out  of 
every  fifty  raises  a  crop  or  works,  and  even  these  few, 
as  soon  as  the  results  of  their  labor  come  to  them  in  the 
shape  of  money,  usually  blow  it  in.  No  matter  how 
large  the  sum  is  it  only  lasts  them  as  long  as  it  takes  to 
spend  it,  and  they  spend  it  dog-goned  quick.  They're 
great  hands  to  buy  buggies  to  drive  around  in.  One 
feller  went  and  bought  three  after  selling  a  lot  of  hay 
he'd  raised.  He  had  no  more  use  for  three  buggies  than 
a  man  has  for  six  legs.  Two  of  'em  he  gave  away,  and 


242    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

in  a  few  weeks  he  was  wanting  to  sell  the  other  for  forty 
dollars  though  it  had  cost  him  over  a  hundred. 

"Of  course  there  are  exceptions  to  the  rule.  Some 
are  buying  good  teams  and  farming  implements  and  a 
bunch  of  cattle  and  getting  down  to  business.  They  all 
take  pride  in  their  horses,  and  they  have  some  blame 
good  ones,  and  as  nice  rigs  as  any  owned  in  Wall  Street. 
But  in  most  ways  they  are  lazy  and  have  no  judgment, 
and  their  financiering  is  shortsighted  and  childish. 
Very  few  of  'em  are  downright  honest  and  square. 
Instead,  they're  quite  irresponsible  and  never  pay  a  debt 
if  they  can  avoid  it.  You  let  them  have  goods  on  credit 
and  they'll  go  to  the  limit  in  buying  every  time,  and  then 
want  more  rope. 

"  Perhaps  the  chief  trouble  is  that  they've  been  raised 
to  another  style  of  living.  You  really  couldn't  expect 
'em  to  be  models  of  industry.  They  used  to  be  a  war- 
ring, buffalo-hunting  tribe.  There  were  millions  of 
buffaloes  in  this  region,  and  it  was  hunt  and  pleasure 
for  the  Indians  all  the  way  through.  But  the  govern- 
ment got  into  a  row  with  the  Sioux,  who  became  so  bad 
it  was  necessary  to  starve  'em  into  submission  by  clear- 
ing out  the  buffaloes.  Then  the  Crows  saw  hard  times, 
and  the  government  made  paupers  of  'em  by  issuing 
rations  to  the  whole  tribe,  old  and  young.  All  an  In- 
dian had  to  do  was  to  sit  down  and  say  he  was  hungry 
to  have  his  food  passed  out  to  him. 


A  waterside  footpath 


Ouster's  Last  Battlefield  243 

"The  present  agent  has  been  trying  to  set  'em  on 
their  feet  and  show  'em  how  to  take  care  of  themselves. 
It  was  his  idea  that  a  man  didn't  deserve  food  if  he 
wouldn't  work,  and  he  cut  off  the  rations  from  the  able- 
bodied  intending  to  let  'em  rustle.  But  rations  were 
still  given  to  the  old  people,  and  the  young  bucks  flocked 
around  to  help  eat  them.  So  the  issuing  of  food  was 
stopped  entirely. 

"The  government  controls  considerable  money  that 
belongs  to  the  Indians,  and  they're  all  the  time  at  the 
agent  to  get  hold  of  it.  A  person  requesting  money  who 
has  a  foolish  plan  for  spending  it  is  given  some  good 
advice,  and  goes  away  empty-handed.  An  Indian  is 
not  very  demonstrative.  If  the  advice  suits  him  he  looks 
very  solemn  and  shakes  hands.  If  he's  mad  he  looks 
very  solemn  and  walks  off  without  any  hand-shaking. 
Some  of  the  young  fellows  raise  a  great  row  when  the 
agent  withholds  their  money,  and  to  keep  the  peace  he 
turns  it  over  to  them,  lets  'em  fool  it  away  and  suffer 
the  consequences.  To  allow  the  old  people  to  squander 
their  property  that  way  is  a  more  serious  matter.  As 
long  as  they  have  a  little  income  their  relatives  will  take 
care  of  'em;  but  with  their  capital  in  their  own  hands 
they're  soon  paupers.  Then  none  of  the  tribe  wants 
them  around  and  they  lead  a  hard  life. 

"Most  of  the  men  have  adopted  the  garments  of  the 
whites,  but  the  old  fellows  still  cling  to  their  blankets. 


244   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

The  women  dress  practically  as  they  always  have,  ex- 
cept that  they  use  calico  instead  of  buckskin,  and  sub- 
stitute a  white  sheet  in  summer  for  the  blanket  they 
ordinarily  wear.  The  finest  feminine  garment  is  a  dress 
ornamented  with  elk  teeth,  or  shells.  Such  a  dress  is 
handed  down  as  a  family  heirloom  and  is  only  worn  by 
recent  brides  and  young  girls.  It  is  often  worth  a  good 
team. 

"Some  of  the  Indians  have  pretty  nice  places,  but 
the  habits  of  the  inmates  of  even  the  better  homes  are 
apt  to  have  a  flavor  of  the  barbaric.  The  girls  will  go 
right  home  from  the  school  and  fry  dough  and  boil  meat 
just  as  their  mothers  have  in  the  past.  You  seldom 
find  anything  but  ordinary  squaw-cooking.  Then,  too, 
they  get  tired  of  living  in  a  house.  Perhaps  it  becomes 
too  dirty,  and  the  family  prefers  to  move  out  rather  than 
to  clean  it.  So  they  transfer  themselves  to  a  tent.  That 
has  advantages  over  a  house,  for  when  the  dirt  gets  too 
offensive  they  can  shift  the  tent  to  a  new  spot.  It's  too 
bad,  but  the  tents  are  knocking  out  the  old  picturesque 
tepees,  because  they  are  so  much  cheaper,  and  are 
easier  handled. 

"The  health  of  the  Indians'  is  poor.  Tuberculosis 
is  the  disease  that  is  carrying  off  most  of  them.  They 
are  very  susceptible  to  it.  For  one  thing,  they  don't  use 
any  judgment  about  ventilation.  A  tepee  would  ven- 
tilate itself.  Every  time  the  flap  at  the  entrance  was 


Custer's  Last  Battlefield  245 

thrown  up  there'd  be  a  change  of  air.  It's  different 
with  a  house,  or  even  with  a  modern  tent;  for  they  have 
a  campstove  in  the  tent  and  sit  around  it  and  sweat,  but 
keep  the  fire  going  just  the  same.  They  don't  like  to  go 
to  a  doctor  when  they're  sick.  The  mummery  of  their 
own  medicine  men  suits  them  better.  We  tried  recently 
to  send  a  physician  to  a  fellow  who'd  broken  his  arm, 
but  he  hid  out,  and  that  arm  will  be  crooked  for  the 
rest  of  his  days. 

"They're  very  fond  of  dogs.  A  few  weeks  ago  they 
had  a  camp  down  the  river  a  mile  or  two,  and  there  were 
seventy  tepees  and  a  thousand  dogs.  Some  tribes  like 
dog  meat  to  eat,  but  not  these  fellows,  and  the  dogs 
multiply  past  endurance.  We  had  a  poisoning  bee  here 
one  time.  The  Indians  were  goin'  to  get  together  for  a 
dance,  and  of  course  the  dogs  would  all  come;  so  we 
decided  to  see  what  poison  would  do.  We  got  a  quarter 
of  beef  the  day  before  the  dance,  cut  it  up,  fixed  it  well 
with  strychnine,  and  then  took  it  in  a  rig  and  drove  over 
the  road  throwing  the  pieces  out  to  the  sides  as  we  went 
along.  The  next  day  there  were  dead  dogs  scattered 
the  entire  distance.  They  were  worthless  curs,  you 
know,  and  if  we  didn't  do  something  like  that  the  whole 
darn  country  would  be  overrun  with  'em.  The  owners 
never  kill  any,  and  if  a  dog  goes  mad  it  bites  other  dogs 
and  ponies  and  stock,  and  we  have  a  dickins  of  a  time." 

A  dance  such  as  my  informant  referred  to  occurs 
every  two  or  three  months,  and  the  Indians  gather  to  it 


246    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

from  twenty  miles  up  and  down  the  valley  and  continue 
their  pow-wow  for  several  days.  One  of  these  was  in 
progress,  about  six  miles  north  of  the  town,  at  the  time 
of  my  visit.  The  crops  were  all  started,  there  was  no 
pressure  of  work,  and  it  was  a  favorable  time  to  get 
together  a  crowd.  Usually  a  man  not  only  came  him- 
self but  brought  all  his  family,  riding  in  a  stout  farm 
wagon  that  was  laden  with  food  and  bedding  and  a  tent 
or  tepee.  As  if  by  magic  a  village  sprang  into  being  in 
a  glen  that  opened  back  into  the  hills  from  the  main 
valley.  It  was  a  crowded  hamlet  of  white  canvas  with 
many  vehicles  standing  about,  and  a  throng  of  Indians 
enlivening  the  vicinity.  On  the  afternoon  that  I  joined 
the  gathering  occasional  members  of  the  tribe  lay  dozing 
in  convenient  patches  of  shade,  others  squatted  in 
groups  to  chat,  still  others  sat  looking  down  on  the  scene 
from  points  of  vantage  on  the  steep  hillslopes,  and  some 
were  going  to  a  near  stream  for  water  or  to  let  their 
horses  drink.  There  was  much  cantering  to  and  fro 
on  the  valley  road  and  through  the  village  and  over  the 
surrounding  hills.  Often  the  riders  were  little  girls  and 
little  boys;  yet  they  would  gallop  about  perfectly  fear- 
less with  as  wild  an  ardor  as  any  of  their  elders.  I 
marvelled  that  they  were  able  to  stay  on,  but  as  a  local 
dweller  explained:  "They  start  in  to  ride  almost  before 
they  can  walk.  The  men  tie  'em  on  and  then  turn  'em 
loose." 


A  dancer  and  a  youthful  admirer 


Ouster's  Last  Battlefield 


247 


In  the  midst  of  the  encampment  on  a  grassy  level 
was  one  tent  far  larger  than  any  of  the  others.  This 
was  reserved  for  the  dancing,  and  now  and  then  a  brave 
daubed  with  paint  and  arrayed  with  much  savage  finery 
of  beads  and  feathers  stood  forth  near  it  and  shouted  a 
weird  high-voiced  summons  to  the  merry-making.  The 
painted  warriors  became  increasingly  numerous,  and  in 
the  case  of  some  of  them  the  paint  and  decorations  were 
about  all  they  wore.  Presently  the  dance  began,  but 
many  of  the  tribe  continued  to  loiter  about  the  camp  or 
to  canter  hither  and  thither  on  their  ponies.  As  to  the 
spectators,  they  could  go  inside  of  the  big  tent  or  peer 
through  the  crevices  as  they  preferred.  I  found  the 
performance  quite  fascinating,  and  the  music,  though  a 
kind  of  monotonous  chant  accompanied  by  the  pound- 
ing of  drums,  was  wildly  exhilarating.  Those  concerned 
entered  into  the  activities  with  vigor  and  heartfelt  en- 
joyment, and  their  delight  was  contagious.  The  danc- 
ing consisted  either  of  marching,  or  of  standing  in 
formal  groups  and  keeping  up  an  odd  jerking  motion 
by  bending  the  knees  slightly  and  then  straightening  up. 
Both  men  and  squaws  took  part  in  the  dancing,  and 
they  were  reinforced  by  some  of  the  smaller  children 
who  sang  and  jigged  and  paraded  with  all  the  fervor 
of  their  elders.  Once  a  band  of  men  marched  out  of 
the  tent  and  went  a  few  rods  up  the  slope,  where  they 
stood  and  bobbed  up  and  down  with  nodding  feathers 
and  chanted  vociferously.  They^made  an  imposingly 


248   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

picturesque  group,  and  yet  the  individual  warriors  were 
often  simply  frightful  in  their  unearthly  grotesqueness. 
The  Indians'  enjoyment  of  the  occasion  was  evident,  and 
I  was  not  surprised  to  learn  that  they  take  better  care 
of  their  war  bonnets  and  other  ornaments  displayed  at 
the  dances  than  of  anything  else  they  own ! 

Three  or  four  white  people  were  present  to  witness 
the  ceremonies,  and  among  them  was  an  old  farmer 
from  the  next  town  up  the  valley.  He  left  at  the  same 
time  I  did,  and  we  stopped  for  a  chat  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  camp.  After  some  preliminaries  he  became 
reminiscent  and  said:  "I  was  raised  up  a  little  bit  like 
old  Abe  Lincoln  was.  My  folks  was  poor  white  trash 
in  the  Tennessee  Mountains.  A  fellow  didn't  have 
much  chance  in  that  region.  I  cut  twelve  cords  of  wood 
at  twenty-five  cents  a  cord  to  pay  for  my  first  pair  of 
cowhide  boots,  and  I've  swung  a  scythe  many  a  time 
for  fifty  cents  a  day.  After  the  war  I  went  to  Kansas 
poorer'n  Job's  turkey — hadn't  a  thing  on  earth — and 
picked  up  odd  jobs  where  I  could.  I've  grubbed  all 
day  there  for  a  bushel  of  potatoes.  I  had  to  do  that  or 
starve.  But  pretty  soon  I  got  hold  of  a  nice  farm,  and 
that  country  just  suited  me  except  for  the  fever  and 
ague.  Finally,  I  concluded  I  couldn't  stand  it  in  the 
Kansas  river  bottoms  and  I  come  to  Wyoming  and 
bought  up  an  old  sagebrush  desert.  Any  man  that  got 
into  the  Wild  West  twenty-five  or  thirty  years  ago  had 
to  do  some  hard  scratchin'  to  make  a  living;  but  we 


Ouster's  Last  Battlefield  249 

prospered,  and  pretty  soon  I  had  a  nice  ranch.  My 
daughter  too  got  to  have  a  place  of  her  own  by  filing 
a  homestead  claim.  She's  a  worker — good  to  tend  a 
garden  and  to  do  lots  of  other  things  around  the  farm. 
Lately  we  sold  out  and  come  and  drawed  some  of  the 
new  land  they're  opening  up  in  this  valley.  If  only  the 
irrigation  ditch  had  been  finished  in  time  I  could  have 
growed  forty  bushel  of  spring  wheat  to  the  acre  on  my 
land  this  year  like  a  top.  I  don't  like  the  cold  northwest 
winds  they  have  in  this  part  of  the  world,  and  I'm  not 
satisfied  with  the  kind  of  home  we've  got.  I'll  tell  you 
for  why — the  region  is  open  and  bleak  and  a  house  looks 
lonesome  without  trees.  But  I've  putt  in  some  cotton- 
woods  to  break  the  wind,  and  in  ten  years'  time  we'll 
have  as  snug  a  place  as  anybody  could  want.  Yes,  the 
part  of  this  valley  where  the  whites  are  is  going  to  be 
fine.  I  don't  know  about  the  Indians.  Whether  they 
can  settle  down  to  drudging  on  a  farm  and  make  a 
success  of  it  is  a  question." 

NOTE. — To  visit  the  scene  of  any  famous  event  that  the  world  has 
recognized  as  exceptionally  important  or  tragic  is  always  a  satisfac- 
tion, and  the  Custer  battlefield  for  this  reason  should  draw  to  it  many 
a  traveller  from  a  distance.  It  is  easily  accessible,  and  though  having 
in  itself  no  scenic  beauty,  its  very  dreariness  adds  to  the  sombre  attrac- 
tion of  the  spot.  As  an  offset  to  the  barren  aspect  of  the  battlefield, 
there  is  near  by  the  charming  Crow  Agency  village,  and  the  region 
abounds  with  Indians  making  a  struggle  to  adopt  the  ways  of  civiliza- 
tion, yet  not  at  present  succeeding  well  enough  to  entirely  lose  their 
picturesque  interest.  Of  course,  if  the  visitor  can  happen  to  be  on 
hand  at  the  time  of  one  of  their  frequent  dances  he  has  the  chance  to 
see  the  savage  in  all  his  glory;  and  the  spectacle  has  a  wild  impressive- 
ness  quite  unforgetable. 


XIV 

AMONG   THE    BLACK   HILLS 

THE  Black  Hills  are  an  outlying  group  of  the 
Rockies,  so  far  removed  from  the  main  series  of 
ridges  as  to  be  almost  unrelated.  Roundabout 
them  for  hundreds  of  miles  the  country  is  a  monotony 
of  low  hills  and  plains  which  offers  a  striking  contrast 
to  this  medley  of  craggy  uplifts  and  irregular  valleys. 
Harney  Peak,  the  monarch  of  the  Black  Hills  group 
reaches  an  elevation  of  over  seven  thousand  feet,  but 
the  immediate  vicinity  is  itself  so  high  that  neither 
Harney  nor  any  of  the  other  mountains  are  especially 
impressive.  On  the  slopes  and  heights  grow  dark 
forests  of  pine,  and  in  the  vales  is  pasturage  and  many 
a  sunny  well-watered  glade  where  are  occasional  small 
cultivated  fields  and  rude  farmhouses. 

One  advantage  the  Black  Hills  inhabitants  claim  to 
have  over  the  dwellers  on  the  plains  is  that  their  region 
is  immune  from  tornadoes.  "Since  I've  been  here," 
said  one  old  resident,  "we've  never  had  enough  of  a  gale 
to  take  the  shingles  off  a  woodshed." 

But  I  was  informed  that  in  some  of  the  outlying  foot- 
hill hamlets  the  wind  at  times  blew  so  that  the  people 
"could  hardly  keep  the  buttons  on  their  clothes." 


Panning  for   gold 


Among  the  Black  Hills  251 

Considerable  mellow  soil  has  gathered  in  the  valley 
pockets,  yet  rocks  are  for  the  most  part  omnipresent, 
often  thrusting  up  great  ragged  ridges  to  a  height  of 
hundreds  of  feet.  Mica  is  plentiful  in  the  rocks,  and 
the  soil  is  full  of  glittering  particles  that  have  a  very 
pretty  sheen  and  sparkle  in  the  sunshine.  Then,  too, 
you  see  many  scattered  fragments  of  quartz  as  clear  as 
crystal,  and  though  the  quartz  and  the  pulverized  mica 
have  no  value  they  attract  and  please  the  eye,  and  are 
suggestive  of  hidden  wealth. 

The  discovery  of  gold  in  the  Black  Hills  is  usually 
attributed  to  a  government  exploring  expedition  which 
spent  the  summer  of  1874  in  the  region;  but  even  at 
that  time  there  were  a  good  many  miners  roaming 
around  prospecting,  entirely  independent  of  the  troops. 
The  miners  found  gold,  and  so  did  the  soldiers,  and 
both  told  stories  of  wealth  to  be  found  in  the  Hills  that 
created  great  interest  throughout  the  country  and  at 
once  gave  the  group  of  wild  mountains  world-wide 
fame. 

For  a  number  of  years  the  floating  population  of  the 
frontier  had  been  suffering  from  a  dearth  of  exciting 
mineral  discoveries,  and  they  promptly  made  ready  to 
rush  in.  Numerous  other  fortune-seekers  were  attracted 
from  the  older  Eastern  states.  The  fact  that  they  would 
be  trespassers  on  the  choicest  hunting-ground  belong- 
ing to  the  Sioux  Indians  was  no  serious  deterrent.  Men 
have  always  been  ready  to  risk  their  lives  for  gold;  and 


252    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

the  rights  of  Indians  do  not  usually  count  for  much  with 
the  whites.  The  government,  however,  had  included 
the  Black  Hills  in  the  Sioux  reservation,  and,  to  avoid 
trouble,  the  authorities  at  Washington  endeavored  to 
keep^the  miners  out.  They  soon  realized  the  hopeless- 
ness of  the  attempt,  if  the  Hills  were  rich  in  gold,  and 
started  negotiations  to  buy  the  tract  from  its  owners. 
This  they  succeeded  in  doing  in  1876,  but  fortune- 
seekers  were  numerous  in  the  Hills  long  before  the  trans- 
fer was  made. 

"People  went  crazy  about  gold,"  one  old-timer  said 
to  me;  "and  though  the  soldiers  took  a  good  many 
men  out  of  the  reservation  the  population  was  increas- 
ing right  along.  Men  who  were  used  to  mining  and  to 
rough  frontier  life  couldn't  have  been  driven  away  with 
a  club.  They  were  bound  to  keep  on  gold-hunting  in 
spite  of  everything.  I  know  an  old  man  who's  a  fair 
sample  of  what  those  fellows  were  then.  All  the  soldiers 
in  the  United  States  couldn't  keep  him  away  from  a 
mining  camp.  In  his  day  he  made  quite  a  lot  of  money; 
but  it  has  all  slipped  away  from  him.  Still  he  sticks  to 
mining,  and  he's  out  in  the  mountains  prospecting  now. 
He  hunts  around  and  picks  up  stones  that  look  promis- 
ing, pounds  'em  up  in  a  mortar  and  pans  out  the  stuff 
to  see  if  there's  gold  in  it.  He's  all  alone,  and  some  day 
he'll  be  found  dead  in  his  little  shack. 

"  My  pardner  and  me  come  here  in  the  spring  of  '75. 
The  soldiers  didn't  ketch  us,  and  we  was  in  the  town  of 


Among  the  Black  Hills  253 

Custer  when  the  big  strike  of  gold  was  made  early  the 
next  year  in  Deadwood.  It  was  toward  the  end  of 
winter,  and  there  was  still  snow  on  the  ground,  but 
everybody  who  could  leave  started  off  for  the  new  dig- 
gings. We'd  thought  Custer  was  going  to  be  the  big 
town  of  the  Black  Hills;  and  yet  almost  in  a  night  it 
was  depopulated.  There  were  fourteen  hundred  build- 
ings in  the  place,  and  only  fourteen  persons  remained 
in  town;  so  there  were  a  hundred  buildings  to  each 
person. 

"It's  funny  how  people  will  hustle  off  that  way. 
They  are  just  like  a  lot  of  cattle  stampeded  in  a  storm — 
each  going  with  the  crowd  in  a  mad  rush  and  not  seeing 
or  thinking.  A  feller  will  tell  about  a  prospect  that  he 
thinks  is  going  to  be  a  money-maker.  The  next  man 
who  tells  the  story  enlarges  on  it  a  little,  and  by  the 
time  it's  passed  through  half  a  dozen  hands  everybody 
goes  wild.  Off  they  start  for  the  new  camp;  but  even 
if  no  one  makes  a  cent  there's  not  a  man  among  'em 
who  isn't  happy  until  he's  broke. 

"I  didn't  make  any  lucky  gold  strikes  myself  and 
presently  I  tried  work  of  another  sort.  In  the  spring  of 
'77  I  carted  hay  forty  or  fifty  miles  from  the  borders  of 
the  Hills  to  Deadwood.  I  had  eight  oxen  and  carried 
about  two  tons  to  a  load.  The  hay  cost  me  thirty  dollars 
a  ton,  and  I  sold  it  for  fourteen  cents  a  pound.  Supplies 
of  all  sorts  were  scarce  here  in  those  days,  and  the  stock 
in  Deadwood  really  suffered  for  food.  I  wasn't  long  in 


254   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

disposing  of  what  I  brought.  I'd  stop  in  the  middle  of 
the  street,  and  men  would  crowd  around  the  load  like 
a  swarm  of  bees,  and  hold  up  their  money  to  buy.  The 
hay  was  tied  up  with  light  rope  into  bundles  that  sold  for 
a  hundred  pounds,  but  which  didn't  weigh  much  over 
seventy-five.  As  soon  as  my  cart  was  emptied  I'd  turn 
around  and  come  back  to  where  there  was  prairie  and 
a  chance  for  the  oxen  to  graze.  I  couldn't  have  afforded 
to  feed  them  in  Deadwood. 

"I  was  out  and  around  alone  a  good  deal;  and  yet 
with  all  the  travelling  I  did  I  never  saw  any  Indians. 
I  didn't  want  to  see  any.  They  weren't  friendly  toward 
the  whites,  and  I  was  always  more  or  less  anxious 
about  'em.  So  were  the  other  people  who  came  into 
the  region.  But  I  was  more  afraid  of  lawless  white 
men.  They'd  dress  up  in  imitation  of  the  savages- 
paint  themselves  and  put  on  blankets  and  fasten  a 
horsetail  on  the  back  of  their  heads  to  look  like  long 
Indian  hair.  Then  they'd  rob  the  stage  and  the  poor 
tenderfoot  who  was  coming  in  with  money.  Lots  of 
misdeeds  were  laid  to  the  Indians  where  they  weren't 
to  blame  at  all.  What  the  outlaws  liked  best  was  to 
hold  up  the  coaches  when  they  heard  that  bullion  was 
going  to  be  shipped  out;  but  now  and  then  the  owners 
of  the  bullion  would  fool  the  robbers  by  filling  the  bags 
with  sand. 

"The  nearest  I  came  to  running  afoul  of  Indians  was 
one  morning  on  my  way  to  Deadwood  with  a  load  of 


Begging  to  go  fishing 


Among  the  Black  Hills  255 

hay.  I  came  to  a  spot  where  a  party  of  whites  had 
camped  the  night  before,  and  found  a  woman  dead 
beside  the  road.  It  was  a  pretty  bad  place  for  Indians- 
handy  for  game  and  water,  and  just  the  spot  they'd 
naturally  pick  out  for  a  camp.  They  had  turned 
loose  on  the  whites  at  about  daylight,  and  of  co'se  the 
whites  skipped  out.  They  didn't  know  what  they  was 
doing — this  outfit  didn't.  All  but  one  woman  escaped 
up  a  hill.  The  horses  was  so  scared  they  stampeded, 
and  the  Indians  couldn't  get  them;  and  there  was  no 
chance  to  steal  from  the  wagons  because  the  whites  were 
all  the  time  shooting.  In  a  little  while  the  Indians  left. 
Pretty  soon  afterward  I  happened  along,  and  there  lay 
the  dead  woman,  and  the  rest  of  the  company  was 
hollering  on  the  bluff. 

"No  one  was  safe  from  the  Indians  in  the  first  year 
or  two.  They  would  crawl  up  the  high  hills  and  shoot 
at  the  men  working  in  the  gulches  below,  and  the  miners 
used  to  keep  their  guns  handy,  and  they  provided  de- 
fences for  emergencies. 

"The  last  Indian  rising  was  in  1892.  One  of  the  old 
heads  went  into  a  trance.  He  said  the  Messiah  appeared 
to  him  and  ordered  the  Indians  to  drive  out  the  whites, 
and  promised  that  the  deer  and  buffalo  would  return 
so  the  Indians  would  have  their  happy  hunting-ground 
to  themselves  again.  They  began  to  massacree  the 
whites;  but  the  troops  soon  put  a  stop  to  that  sort  of 
thing.  The  savages  might  have  made  more  of  a  fight 


256   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

if  they  hadn't  been  so  afraid  of  cannon.  Let  'em  hear 
the  discharge  of  a  cannon,  and  they  think  the  world  is 
coming  to  an  end.  With  just  one  cannon  you  can  scare 
a  whole  tribe.  Often  you  don't  even  need  to  fire  it;  to 
show  it  on  a  knoll  is  sufficient." 

The  man  whose  comments  I  have  reported  was  a 
citizen  of  Custer  where  I  spent  some  time  rambling 
about  the  region.  The  town  has  never  recovered  from 
the  famous  exodus  that  depopulated  it  in  its  youth,  and 
is  merely  a  village  in  a  glade  of  the  rocky  uplands.  As 
a  matter  of  fact  the  only  really  notable  mine  in  the 
Black  Hills  is  the  "Homestake"  near  Deadwood.  This 
employs  nearly  two  thousand  men  under  ground  and 
is  one  of  the  richest  gold  mines  in  America.  The  first 
prospectors  looked  around  the  neighborhood  late  in 
1874,  and  other  parties  came  drifting  in  the  next  year; 
but  there  was  no  special  excitement  till  a  twelve-month 
later.  Deadwood  Gulch,  where  gold  was  first  found  in 
quantity,  was  then  covered  with  a  dense  growth  of  pine, 
much  of  it  dead  and  mingled  with  a  nearly  impassable 
tangle  of  underbrush. 

The  biggest  strike  was  made  by  a  man  named  Wheeler. 
He  is  said  to  have  cleaned  up  over  one  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars,  and  then  to  have  asked  and  obtained  an 
escort  of  soldiers  to  see  him  safely  across  the  wilderness 
to  the  nearest  railway  station,  two  hundred  miles  dis- 
tant. What  became  of  him  and  his  fortune  afterward 
no  one  could  tell  me.  If  he  went  away  satisfied  with 


Among  the  Black  Hills  257 

the  wealth  he  had  accumulated  he  was  a  very  excep- 
tional miner.  Usually  the  lucky  ones  embarked  on  new 
ventures  and  lost  their  earlier  gains.  The  chances  were 
always  fascinating,  but  where  one  made  money,  thou- 
sands of  other  adventurers  made  nothing  at  all.  Per- 
haps the  commonest  source  of  profit  to  those  who  dis- 
covered "a  prospect"  was  to  sell  it  to  moneyed  Eastern 
men.  The  purchasers,  as  a  rule,  not  only  put  their 
money  in  the  ground  but  left  it  there. 

During  the  spring  and  summer  of  1876,  each  day, 
and  almost  each  hour,  witnessed  the  arrival  of  new 
parties  of  gold  seekers  in  Deadwood  Gulch.  Whoever 
could  saw  a  board  or  drive  a  nail  commanded  his  own 
price,  and  in  a  short  time  the  place  grew  from  a  few  log 
cabins  to  a  city  of  seven  thousand  inhabitants.  The 
hotels  were  so  crowded  it  was  considered  a  luxury  to 
occupy  a  chair  in  the  office  during  the  night.  Every- 
thing was  extremely  expensive.  Bread  went  as  high  as 
a  dollar  a  loaf,  and  people  were  glad  to  get  it  at  that 
price.  One  man  with  whom  I  talked  declared  that  the 
high  cost  of  living  was  a  result  of  modern  trust  methods 
among  the  merchants. 

"They  were  pretty  smart,"  said  he,  "and  were  care- 
ful not  to  let  too  many  supplies  come  in  at  a  time  to 
lower  the  price.  If  they  had  a  load  of  flour  on  the  way 
they'd  drive  out  with  a  buggy  and  meet  it  and  have  it 
stop  or  come  slower.  They'd  carry  back  just  a  few 
sacks  and  say  the  team  was  delayed  by  bad  roads. 


258   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

"But  no  one  minded  those  little  tricks  then.  Every- 
body come  in  with  plenty  of  money,  and  they  expected 
to  be  able  to  get  plenty  more  when  that  was  gone.  A 
good  many  of  the  gold-seekers  was  fetched  in  by  Joe 
Vollin,  who  had  a  freighting  outfit  going  back  and 
forth  between  the  Black  Hills  and  the  Missouri.  He 
charged  'em  twenty-five  dollars  a  head,  and  they  had  to 
walk  all  the  way.  But  they  were  allowed  to  put  their 
little  baggage — a  couple  of  blankets  and  a  satchel — on 
the  wagon.  If  the  wagon  got  stuck  in  the  mud,  a  rope 
would  be  hitched  to  the  end  of  the  tongue,  and  the 
tenderfeet  would  get  hold  and  help  pull  the  thing  out  on 
firmer  ground.  You  take  seventy-five  or  a  hundred 
men  and  they  can  pull  a  dickins  of  a  load.  They  worked 
their  way  and  paid  their  fare,  too;  but  they  thought 
that  was  all  right.  They'd  never  been  in  a  wild  country 
before,  so  it  was  easy  for  Vollin  to  scare  'em  with  his 
Indian  stories,  and  they  had  no  hankering  to  go  ahead 
by  themselves. 

"Often  they  didn't  know  what  to  do  when  they  got 
here.  They'd  thought  the  gold  would  be  lying  around 
right  on  the  surface  of  the  ground.  It  was  their  idea 
they  could  walk  along  the  cricks  and  pick  up  the  gold 
in  lumps.  When  they  found  they'd  have  to  work  for  it, 
and  that  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  but  dirt  and  rocks 
and  wild  woodland  many  a  feller  got  sick  of  the  proposi- 
tion about  the  second  day  and  was  ready  to  pay  Vollin 


On  a  Black  Hills  roadway 


Among  the  Black  Hills  259 

another  twenty-five  dollars  to  be  allowed  to  walk  back  to 
civilization  alongside  of  one  of  the  freighting  wagons." 

The  placer  mines  of  Deadwood  Gulch  and  the  tribu- 
tary ravines  were  for  a  short  time  very  remunerative, 
and  the  town  that  grew  up  there  was  the  metropolis  of 
the  Black  Hills.  Thither  the  miners  from  all  the  region 
around  wended  their  way  every  Saturday  night  with 
their  weekly  accumulation  of  gold  dust  and  nuggets. 
Gold  in  these  forms  was  the  commonest  kind  of  currency 
in  the  Hills,  and  everyone  carried  a  bottle  or  sack  of  it 
for  use  in  place  of  money.  On  arriving  in  Deadwood  at 
the  week-end  the  average  miner  proceeded  to  spend  his 
golden  wealth  like  a  nabob;  and  on  Monday  morning, 
with  a  fresh  supply  of  "grub"  thrown  over  his  shoulder 
he  returned  to  his  claim  to  delve  for  more  of  the  precious 
metal.  No  doubt  he  was  cheered  at  his  rough  labor  by 
the  certainty  of  having  another  "good  time"  the  next 
Sunday.  That  was  the  busiest  and  noisiest  day  of  the 
week  in  Deadwood.  The  streets  were  crowded  both 
with  buckskin-clothed  mountaineers,  and  with  recent 
arrivals  from  the  East.  You  heard  the  blows  of  ham- 
mers and  the  rasping  of  saws  where  buildings  were 
being  erected.  Here  a  gambler  was  crying  his  game, 
and  there  a  street  preacher  was  exhorting  sinners  to 
repent. 

As  to  preachers,  one  finds  very  little  veneration  for 
them  among  the  mining  folk — at  least  in  fair  weather. 
"We  never  was  much  for  going  to  church,"  remarked 


260    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

a  pioneer  of  the  region.  "You  can't  make  no  money 
that  way,  and  a  miner  has  something  else  to  do  besides 
attending  to  religion.  It's  curious,  but  it's  a  fact,  that 
when  a  preacher  wanted  to  build  a  church  or  anything 
of  that  sort  he  was  sure  to  get  most  of  the  money  off  the 
gamblers  and  liquor  sellers.  Naturally  they  can't  collect 
much  from  their  religious  church  members,  because  a 
man  that  prays  all  the  time  can't  be  expected  to  earn  or 
have  much  money.  Such  men  perhaps  give  ten  cents  or 
a  quarter  apiece,  while  from  each  saloon  the  minister 
will  get  ten  or  twenty  dollars.  Then  he'll  give  the  liquor 
sellers  thunder  in  church  the  next  Sunday.  Religion 
is  only  society — I  call  it.  You  take  away  the  social 
attraction,  and  you'd  have  nothing  left.  In  fact,  there 
are  not  many  people  in  the  world  who  believe  very 
seriously  in  religion  unless  they're  weak  in  the  mind. 
Still,  it's  good  enough  for  young  people  and  puts  a  kind 
of  fear  in  'em  they  never  forget.  But  you  can't  put  much 
fear  into  an  old  man  like  me.  I'm  glad  though  to  have 
my  children  attend  church.  It  keeps  'em  down  a  little. 
They'll  learn  fast  enough." 

The  only  local  clergyman  who  seems  to  have  gained 
a  permanent  place  in  the  hearts  of  the  mining  folk  is  one 
who  was  killed  by  the  Indians  while  on  his  way  to  a 
neighboring  village  where  he  was  to  preach.  He  knew 
the  danger,  and  yet  duty  called  and  he  took  the  risk. 
This  heroism  and  the  tragic  result  brought  him  what  no 
amount  of  exhortation  would  have  gained,  and  he  is  one 


Among  the  Black  Hills  261 

of  the  Black  Hills  saints.  High  on  the  terrace  of  a  bluff 
above  the  town  is  the  cemetery  overlooking  the  narrow 
glen,  and  there  the  martyr  preacher  is  honored  with  a 
full-length  brown-stone  statue  which  has  an  inclosing 
coop  of  chicken-wire  fencing  to  protect  it  from  the  af- 
fection of  those  who  would  like  to  chip  off  mementoes. 
A  still  more  popular  hero,  similarly  memorialized, 
was  "Wild  Bill."  While  on  a  visit  to  the  region  to  see 
what  the  country  was  like  he  was  shot  dead  as  he  was 
playing  in  one  of  the  gambling  places.  So  far  as  I  could 
learn  he  was  of  the  ordinary  type  of  frontiersman — not 
a  desperado  as  his  name  and  manner  of  death  might 
suggest — but  with  the  usual  frontier  virtues  and  fail- 
ings. He  had  been  a  scout  in  the  Civil  War  and  had 
served  in  a  like  capacity  on  the  plains.  There  was  no 
fear  in  his  make-up,  but  he  well  knew  that  he  had  en- 
emies, and  he  took  the  precaution,  whenever  he  sat 
down  indoors,  to  place  himself  with  his  back  to  the  wall. 
But  this  did  not  save  him  from  a  violent  end. 

A  marble  bust  on  a  pedestal  formerly  marked  his 
grave  in  the  cemetery,  but  the  relic  hunters  did  some 
busting  on  their  own  account  after  the  sculptor  finished, 
and  soon  the  monument  was  ruined.  Then  fresh  con- 
tributions were  levied,  and  now  the  visitor  to  the  ceme- 
tery sees  a  full-length  brown-stone  figure  of  a  bare- 
headed, long-haired  plainsman,  standing  in  a  wire  coop 
like  that  which  protects  the  martyr  preacher.  In  one 
hand  the  effigy  holds  a  pistol  and  is  about  to  draw 


262    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

another  from  his  cartridge  belt.  It  is  a  rather  belliger- 
ent looking  figure  for  that  silent  city  of  the  dead,  and  its 
grotesqueness  has  been  made  the  more  emphatic  by 
painting  the  pupils  of  the  eyes  blue. 
•  Another  contemporary  notable  was  "  Calamity  Jane." 
This  name  appears  to  have  been  her  chief  stock  in  trade, 
and  about  the  only  reason  for  her  being  remembered. 
She  was  shiftless  and  vicious — an  idling  dare-devil  who 
was  in  her  glory  when  she  dressed  up  partly  in  man's 
clothes  and  partly  in  woman's  and  walked  around  the 
the  streets  to  be  greeted  as  "Calamity  Jane."  No 
monument  marks  her  resting-place — possibly  because 
there  was  nothing  startling  about  the  manner  of  her 
death. 

In  the  turmoil  of  the  first  year  or  two  of  the  gold 
excitement  Deadwood  was  a  rough  town.  It  was  full 
of  gamblers,  and  shooting  was  a  common  pastime. 
But  this  period  soon  passed,  and  the  place  became  as 
orderly  and  well-governed  as  most  of  its  sort.  That 
does  not  mean  it  was  ideal;  for  drinkers,  gamblers,  and 
other  purveyors  or  indulgers  in  dissipation  are  allowed 
to  do  much  more  as  they  please  in  mining  towns  than 
in  the  average  community. 

By  reason  of  its  situation  the  town  is  particularly 
piquant  and  interesting,  and  it  has  a  pleasing  air  of 
stability  and  comfort.  The  homes  cling  along  the 
declivities  of  the  deep  gulch,  and  creep  far  up  every  side 
ravine.  Some  of  the  streets  with  their  attendant  board 


A  walk  with  grandmother 


Among  the  Black  Hills  263 

sidewalks  are  marvels  of  steepness;  and  the  houses  are 
arranged  in  terraces,  each  row  looking  down  on  the 
roofs  of  those  below.  In  the  depths  of  the  hollow  are 
the  railroads  and  a  swift  muddy  creek,  business  blocks, 
mines,  shops  and  other  buildings,  all  jumbled  together 
and  entirely  lacking  elbow-room.  Roundabout  rise 
the  lofty  wooded  ridges  with  here  and  there  a  perpen- 
dicular crag,  or  a  hilltop  crowned  with  monumental 
ledges  and  heaps  of  boulders.  It  seems  a  fitting  place 
for  Nature  to  have  exercised  her  magic  in  making  the 
gold  which  has  directly  or  indirectly  been  the  means  of 
drawing  most  of  the  population  to  this  rugged  region. 

NOTE. — The  Black  Hills  cover  a  stretch  of  country  about  one  hun- 
dred miles  in  length  by  fifty  in  width.  They  rise  abruptly  from  the 
surface  of  a  level  prairie  country  and  reach  altitudes  varying  from  three 
thousand  to  seven  thousand  feet.  It  is  evident  that  with  their  streams 
and  crags  and  pine-clad  slopes  they  must  contain  not  a  little  scenery 
that  is  ruggedly  attractive.  There  are  many  picturesque  villages  in 
the  valleys,  and  a  leisurely  traveller  who  likes  rambling  on  foot  or 
riding  on  horseback  finds  much  to  enjoy.  The  town  that  is  most 
strikingly  interesting  in  its  setting,  and  in  its  romantic  history,  is  Dead- 
wood.  Several  other  places  that  have  considerable  attraction,  either 
commercial  or  scenic,  are  near  at  hand,  and  among  these  is  the  city  of 
Lead,  where  is  located  the  great  Homestake  Mine. 


XV 

A   DAKOTA   PARADISE 

IT  was  known  in  local  parlance  as  the  "Jim"  River 
Valley,  and  its  metropolis  was  called  "Jimtown;" 
but  on  the  map  you  found  the  James  River  and 
Jamestown.  The  fertility  and  productiveness  of  the  re- 
gion are  superlative.  Aside  from  this,  however,  neither 
the  river  nor  the  valley  can  lay  any  great  claim  to  beauty. 
The  Jim  is  a  sluggish  stream  that  wanders  placidly 
through  the  alluvial  and  often  marshy  lowlands  and  never 
cuts  up  any  wild  pranks  by  flooding  and  tearing  to  pieces 
the  land  along  its  borders.  On  one  side  or  the  other, 
sometimes  on  both,  mild,  grassy  bluffs  rise  to  a  higher 
level  where  the  country  sweeps  away  in  an  apparently 
limitless  prairie,  dotted  with  groups  of  farm  buildings 
and  criss-crossed  with  roads  and  wire  fences.  Trees 
are  rare  except  for  plantings  around  the  homes,  and 
these  plantings  are  still  for  the  most  part  of  slender 
growth.  At  the  coming  of  the  first  settlers  the  upland 
was  perfectly  clear  prairie,  and  even  along  the  river 
"not  a  stick"  grew  for  scores  of  miles.  But  now  nearly 
every  farmer  has  started  a  grove  of  cottonwoods  and 
other  quick-growing  trees  to  ameliorate  the  barrenness 


A  Dakota  Paradise  265 

of  the  home  surroundings,  break  the  wind,  and  furnish 
a  little  firewood. 

"This  is  a  great  country  for  winds,"  one  man  ex- 
plained to  me  as  I  chatted  with  him  in  the  dooryard 
adjoining  his  home,  in  the  southern  part  of  the  state. 
"Why,  I  built  a  heavy  hay  rack  on  my  wagon  one  morn- 
ing, and  before  night  that  rack  lay  on  the  ground  and 
the  wagon  was  on  top  of  it.  The  same  wind  tipped  a 
passenger  train  off'  the  track  within  three  miles  of  here. 
But  it  wa'n't  no  twister.  It  was  right  down  straight- 
away business.  We  don't  have  cyclones.  Of  course 
the  clouds  come  rolling  up  pretty  threatening  some- 
times, and  my  wife  will  perhaps  go  down  cellar,  but  I 
don't  think  that  is  necessary. 

"We've  been  having  good  seasons  right  along  lately, 
and  everything  is  prosperous  and  the  people  happy. 
But  it  was  different  in  the  early  days.  There  was  a 
kind  of  a  craze  then  over  the  Jim  River  Valley,  and  my 
people  come  rushing  in  with  a  good  many  others  from 
Illinois  about  1880.  They  went  over  plenty  of  country 
just  as  good  long  before  they  got  here.  But  they  were 
just  like  a  herd  of  cattle  that  had  broken  into  a  corn- 
field— sure  not  to  stop  till  they'd  got  to  the  farther  side 
of  it.  The  first  year  that  we  lived  here  the  weather 
was  so  dry  we  couldn't  raise  a  thing.  Hundreds  of  acres 
of  wheat  never  sprouted  at  all,  and  the  ground  con- 
tinued as  bare  as  my  kitchen  floor.  You  couldn't  de- 
pend on  anything  in  those  times;  but  now  that  the 


266   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

country  is  broken  up  and  more  or  less  trees  growing  we 
seem  to  have  a  different  climate.  The  first  settlers 
thought  they'd  been  terribly  fooled.  However,  the 
disappointment  was  partly  their  own  fault.  The  men 
who  came  in  here  then  were  mostly  clerks  from  stores 
and  cashiers  of  banks  and  that  sort  of  fellows.  They 
expected  they  could  get  rich  off  of  wheat  easy,  and  they 
were  goin'  back  East  as  soon  as  they'd  made  their  for- 
tunes. Wheat  was  the  only  thing  they  planted,  and 
when  that  failed  there  was  nothing  else  for  'em  to  fall 
back  on.  They  didn't  have  hardly  any  cattle,  and  not 
even  hens.  Butter  and  eggs  were  shipped  into  the 
valley  from  a  distance,  and  the  settlers  went  to  town 
and  bought  'em.  That's  no  way  to  farm. 

"A  good  many,  after  a  bad  season  or  two,  saw  what 
sort  of  a  boat  they  were  in,  and  picked  up  their  things 
and  left.  But  some  couldn't  get  out.  They  were  so 
poor  they  had  to  stay.  The  walking  was  all  right,  but 
they  didn't  feel  like  walking  so  far.  A  quarter  section 
as  good  as  you'd  want  to  squat  on  could  be  bought  for 
three  hundred  dollars.  And  yet,  at  that  time  I  wouldn't 
have  taken  a  quarter  section  as  a  gift  if  I'd  got  to  pay 
the  taxes  on  it. 

"  I  own  quite  a  herd  of  cattle,  and  I  depend  on  them 
to  tide  me  over  if  we  have  a  bad  crop  year.  There's 
thirty  acres  in  my  chunk  of  pasture.  Buffalo  grass  is 
the  chief  forage  there.  It  is  a  curly  grass  that  sprawls 
over  the  ground  and  never  grows  very  high;  but  the 


Beside  the  stream 


A  Dakota  Paradise  267 

cattle  like  it,  and  even  after  it  dries  up  the  goodness 
seems  to  be  retained,  and  they  will  live  on  it  all  winter. 
For  hay  we  depend  a  good  deal  on  the  wild  red  top  that 
grows  on  the  bottoms.  I've  seen  it  waist  high  and  so 
heavy  that  the  rains  would  lodge  it  down.  When  fall 
comes,  if  a  man  wants  more  hay  for  the  winter  than  he 
has  secured  already,  he  goes  out  and  mows  on  the  prairie. 
The  grass  there  is  then  perfectly  dry,  just  as  it  stands, 
and  can  be  put  in  stacks  as  soon  as  it  is  cut." 

"Isn't  your  land  suited  to  alfalfa?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  replied,  "we  can  raise  alfalfa  till  the 
cows  come  home;  but  at  present  there's  very  little 
tame  grass  of  any  kind  grown  here.  Wheat  is  still  the 
principal  crop,  and  it  doesn't  seem  to  exhaust  our  soil 
as  it  does  in  most  regions.  We  are  getting  good  wheat 
yet  from  fields  that  have  been  sown  to  that  same  crop 
for  thirty  years.  But  our  farming  is  going  to  be  more 
diversified  in  the  future.  Dairying  will  be  one  of  our 
important  industries,  and  we'll  make  all  kinds  of  money 
at  it.  Yes,  the  milk  business  is  bound  to  be  a  cracker- 
jack  here.  There's  no  inspection,  and  the  price  in  town 
is  seven  cents  a  quart  in  summer  and  eight  in  winter. 
The  time  will  come,  too,  when  we  will  fertilize  more. 
Now  we  generally  burn  our  straw  stacks  to  get  rid  of 
them;  and  the  barnyard  and  stable  refuse  we  dump 
into  some  convenient  hollow.  We  wouldn't  trouble  to 
cart  it  off  from  around  our  buildings  only  it's  in  the  way. 
But  I've  noticed  that  where  the  old  straw  stacks  have 


268   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

stood  the  new  grain  grows  twice  as  stout  as  elsewhere, 
and  adjoining  the  spots  where  the  stable  dumps  are, 
the  weeds  grow  ten  feet  high.  So  it's  plain  we're  wast- 
ing valuable  material  for  enriching  the  soil;  and  I've 
begun  to  put  every  bit  of  fertilizer  this  farm  makes  on 
the  land.  It's  the  common  habit  to  cultivate  all  the  land 
in  sight  even  if  you  only  half  take  care  of  it.  We  do  the 
work  any  old  way  to  get  a  crop,  but  I  believe  in  fewer 
acres  and  better  tillage." 

This  farmer  had  a  quarter  section  and  took  care  of  it 
with  very  little  help  except  what  he  got  from  his  children, 
and  they  were  too  young  to  do  much.  "  I  don't  want  to 
make  pack-horses  of  them,"  said  he.  "  It's  natural  for 
children  to  like  play,  and  it  ain't  right  to  pin  them  down 
too  close.  One  of  my  neighbors  works  at  carpentry, 
and  his  little  boys,  ten  and  twelve  years  old,  run  the 
farm.  Light  tasks  in  moderation  are  all  right,  but  the 
heavy  work  those  boys  have  to  do,  and  the  responsi- 
bility will  be  apt  to  hurt  them  in  growth  and  health  and 
make  'em  old  before  their  time.  There  are  cases, 
though,  where  the  boys  have  to  pitch  into  the  work 
whether  they're  able  to  or  not.  My  father  was  in  that 
fix  with  his  family.  He  got  in  with  a  skinner  who 
skinned  him  out  of  all  he  had,  and  we  were  obliged  to 
begin  at  the  bottom.  But  I  don't  want  my  boys  to  work 
as  hard  as  I  did." 

I  stayed  at  this  farmer's  to  dinner.  The  house  was 
small  and  flimsy,  and  they  were  planning  to  put  up  a 


A  Dakota  Paradise  269 

new  dwelling  soon,  and  it  was  to  be  nearer  the  road 
where  they  could  see  people  passing.  There  was  no 
cellar  except  a  hole  under  the  kitchen,  to  which  access 
was  gained  by  a  trap  door,  and  the  three  rooms  were 
hopelessly  overcrowded. 

"Are  you  a  foreignor?"  questioned  the  housewife 
when  we  were  seated  at  the  table.  "You  have  a  kind 
of  brogue  different  from  the  people  here  in  this  country." 

"I'm  from  Massachusetts,"  I  responded. 

"Why,  yes,"  the  woman  commented,  "now  I  think 
of  it,  you  talk  just  like  a  lady  from  Boston  who  was 
visiting  at  our  next  neighbor's  last  summer." 

They  were  a  cordial  and  hearty  family,  and  though 
their  surroundings  were  rather  barren  and  primitive, 
I  thoroughly  enjoyed  their  acquaintance.  In  a  few 
years  more  they  would  probably  make  many  improve- 
ments in  the  home  premises  and  would  attain  a  pros- 
perity little,  if  any,  short  of  wealth. 

Most  of  the  villages  in  the  valley  are  mere  patches  on 
the  prairie,  and  you  can  look  from  the  streets  out  on 
the  farmlands  in  any  direction.  But  Jimtown  is  large 
enough  to  spread  over  considerable  territory,  and  its 
business  blocks  and  better  residence  streets  are  begin- 
ning to  have  an  air  of  substantial  permanence.  It  is 
still,  however,  sufficiently  rustic  for  most  of  its  dwellers 
to  own  a  cow  or  two.  These  are  collected  each  morning 
in  several  herds  and  driven  away  in  different  directions 


270   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

to  the  outlying  pasturage;  and  in  the  evening  they  are 
brought  back  and  separate  to  go  to  their  individual 
stables. 

The  people  are  proud  of  the  place.  Indeed,  it  is  a 
very  miserable  sort  of  a  town  in  the  West  that  the  in- 
habitants are  not  proud  of.  As  a  rule  they  are  ever 
ready  to  sing  the  praises  of  the  town  they  have  adopted 
and  make  a  sort  of  fad  of  "boosting"  it.  "Yes,"  said 
one  of  the  Jimtowners,  "this  is  a  lively  place.  We  don't 
go  to  sleep  in  the  daytime.  It  is  the  trading  center  for 
all  the  wealthy  farm  region  around,  and  you  can  judge 
something  of  the  value  of  the  trade  we  get  when  I  tell 
you  that  lots  of  the  farmers  bring  their  butter  and  eggs 
to  town  in  thirty-five  hundred  dollar  automobiles.  The 
younger  farmers,  especially,  not  only  make  money  but 
spend  it  like  water.  All  the  best  shows  stop  here,  and 
the  farmers  make  up  a  considerable  part  of  the  audience 
at  the  opera  house.  To  pay  a  dollar  or  a  dollar  and  a 
half  for  a  seat  is  just  peanuts  to  these  fellows.  The 
older  men  go  slower.  They  don't  spend  a  great  deal 
for  pleasure,  but  when  they  have  surplus  money  buy 
another  quarter  section.  A  great  deal  of  land  that  they 
got  a  few  years  ago  for  ten  dollars  an  acre  is  worth 
thirty  now.  When  a  man  picks  up  coin  like  that  with- 
out raising  his  hand  it's  comin'  in  hacks,  and  he's  apt 
to  get  chesty  and  forget  there  ever  was  a  time  when  he 
was  poor.  Prosperity  has  made  quite  a  change  in  our 


-/. 


A  Dakota  Paradise  271 

farmers.  They  don't  work  any  more,  unless  you  call 
it  work  doing  everything  riding  around  on  machines." 

The  remarks  I  have  quoted  were  made  by  the  pro- 
prietor of  a  barber's  shop  into  whose  place  of  business 
I  wandered  one  evening.  He  was  interrupted  by  an 
exclamation  from  a  bald-headed  customer  whose 
bare  cranium  was  being  anointed  with  a  hair  restorer  by 
the  barber's  assistant.  "  You're  careless  with  that  stuff," 
said  the  customer.  "  Don't  let  it  run  down  over  my 
forehead  or  I'll  be  like  the  dog-faced  man  in  the  circus. 
Last  week  a  drop  of  it  fell  on  my  shoe,  and  I'll  be 
dinged  if  that  spot  ain't  all  growed  out  thick  with  hair." 

A  young  fellow  sitting  in  a  chair  tilted  back  against 
the  wall  reading  a  newspaper  now  looked  up  and  re- 
marked: "That's  about  as  big  a  story  as  those  Bill 
Conroy  tells.  The  other  day  he  was  saying  that  one 
time  he  was  helping  build  a  bridge  across  a  canyon, 
high  up  above  a  river,  and  he  was  underneath  hang- 
ing by  his  toes  driving  spikes  when  his  watch  dropped 
out  of  his  pocket.  He'd  paid  sixty  dollars  for  it, 
and  it  was  too  valuable  to  lose.  So  he  let  go  with  his 
toes,  and  down  he  went  so  fast  that  he  overtook  the 
watch  and  grabbed  it  just  as  it  was  going  into  the 
water." 

"Did  you  ever  have  any  trouble  with  the  Indians 
here  ?"  I  inquired. 

"No,"  responded  the  barber.  "When  the  whites 
come  the  Indians  took  to  the  tall  timber.  Our  troubles 
were  of  another  sort." 


2J2   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

"I  first  saw  Jimtown  in  1880,"  said  the  bald-headed 
man.  "  It  was  then  just  a  little  frontier  settlement  with- 
out a  single  building  of  brick.  Homesteaders  were 
locating  in  the  region  all  around,  and  they  lived  in  cheap 
shanties  throwed  together  just  as  quick  as  they  could 
put  'em  up." 

"Well,"  interrupted  the  fellow  with  the  newspaper, 
"there's  a  good  many  men  yet  who  have  a  punk  house, 
even  though  they've  built  a  nice  barn." 

"What  is  a  punk  house?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  one  that's  tumbledown  and  unpainted,"  he 
replied.  "Some  men  build  a  good  barn  and  live  in  the 
granary  until  they  get  the  money  to  put  up  a  house." 

"Yes,  there's  makeshifts  still,"  acknowleged  the 
bald  man;  "but  nothing  like  what  there  used  to  be. 
Often,  the  early  houses  were  made  of  sod.  To  build 
one  a  man  would  plough  up  the  turf,  turning  a  furrow 
fourteen  inches  wide  and  four  deep.  Then  with  a  spade 
he'd  cut  the  strips  of  turf  into  two-feet  lengths  and 
build  his  house  walls  with  the  pieces  just  as  if  he  was 
laying  bricks.  Usually  he'd  first  put  up  a  hut  of  boards 
and  make  his  walls  of  sod  right  around  against  the  sides 
of  it;  but  some  got  along  with  turf  only.  You  couldn't 
have  a  warmer  house,  and  if  well  made  it  would  last  a 
dozen  years.  But  of  course  the  roots  that  held  the 
sod  together  soon  decayed,  and  if  the  roof  leaked  or 
the  wall  got  jammed  the  house  would  go  to  pieces  in 
a  very  short  time. 


A  Dakota  Paradise  273 

"However,  we'd  been  willing  to  worry  along  in  any 
sort  of  a  house  if  the  crops  had  been  all  right.  What 
troubled  us  was  the  weather.  For  several  years  there 
was  such  a  lack  of  rain  everything  dried  up;  or  we'd 
get  hot  winds  with  a  little  hail  mixed  in  with  'em  occa- 
sionally that  would  spoil  all  our  hopes.  I've  seen  the 
wheat  looking  prosperous  and  nice  as  could  be,  with 
the  heads  forming,  and  in  a  week  later  it  would  be  just 
burnt  up.  If  those  hot  winds  came,  goodby  to  your 
crop.  The  air  was  like  an  oven.  It  would  scorch  you 
almost.  One  year  I  had  a  hundred  and  twenty-five 
acres  of  oats  that  averaged  two  bushels  to  the  acre,  and 
three  hundred  acres  of  wheat  that  only  panned  out 
fifty  bushels  in  all,  and  a  hundred  and  forty  acres  of 
flax  that  yielded  sixty  bushels  of  dirt  and  flax,  and 
probably  two-thirds  of  it  was  dirt.  After  three  such 
seasons  in  succession  we  was  in  bad  shape;  and  the 
town  merchants  was  hit  pretty  hard,  too.  The  farmers 
couldn't  buy,  and  they  couldn't  pay  their  old  debts. 
They  simply  had  to  be  tided  over  by  the  merchants  till 
they  could  get  the  money  out  of  the  ground.  If  the 
crops  had  been  good  we  wouldn't  have  had  our  noses 
rubbing  on  the  grindstone,  but  would  have  been  looking 
skyward.  Some  farmers  didn't  have  a  dollar  to  buy 
seed,  and  they  could  only  mortgage  all  they  hadn't 
mortgaged  before  and  pinch  along  hoping  the  next  year 
would  be  better.  Meanwhile  they'd  perhaps  live 
mainly  on  potatoes  and  turnips,  with  now  and  then  a 
quarter's  worth  of  flour  as  a  luxury." 


274   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

"You  can't  tell  me  anything  new  about  that,"  said 
the  barber.  "  My  folks  stayed  here  through  bad  season 
after  bad  season  until  all  our  front  teeth  dropped  out. 
The  drouth  and  the  interest  made  a  team  you  couldn't 
buck  at  all.  People  had  to  borrow,  and  the  money 
sharks  could  get  their  own  price.  We  paid  three  per 
cent,  a  month  on  four  thousand  dollars.  I  told  my 
father  he  might  just  as  well  lay  down  and  put  his  heels 
up  in  the  air;  but  he  hated  to  give  up  that  farm.  The 
soil  was  as  black  as  your  hat  and  not  a  pebble  in  it. 

"There's  a  good  deal  of  such  land  in  this  country, 
but  we  have  other  sorts,  too.  Once  in  a  while  you  find 
gumbo,  and  if  it's  dry  and  you  strike  a  regular  patch  of 
it  while  you're  ploughing,  the  plough  will  jump  right 
up  in  the  air.  If  it's  wet  the  sun  soon  diys  what  your 
plough  tips  over  into  chunks  that  are  as  hard  as  paving 
bricks.  Then  there's  clay  soil — Gee  whiz!  you  walk 
through  that  in  the  spring,  and  your  shoes  will  gather 
it  up  till  they're  three  feet  across.  It's  fierce,  ain't  it, 
Seth  ?"  and  the  barber  turned  to  the  young  man  with 
the  newspaper. 

"  I  wouldn't  live  on  a  farm  if  you'd  give  me  one," 
Seth  responded.  "It's  too  lonesome.  The  neighbors 
are  a  mile  apart — yes,  all  of  that.  Besides,  the  winters 
are  too  cold,  and  the  roads  get  too  drifted.  After  a 
snowstorm,  if  the  wind  blows,  you  want  to  get  under 
cover.  How  it  will  stack  the  snow  up!  I've  been  on 
top  of  drifts  so  high  I  could  touch  the  telegraph  lines." 


Advising  the  boys 


A  Dakota  Paradise  275 

"Snowdrifts — why  here's  where  we  raise  'em,"  de- 
clared the  barber;  "and  it's  one  beauty  of  this  country 
that  you  don't  have  to  buy  coal  but  eleven  months  in 
the  year.  The  other  month  you  sift  ashes  or  sit  around 
with  your  overcoat  on.  I've  seen  the  mercury  take  such 
a  drop  that  we  had  to  hook  three  thermometers  together, 
one  below  the  other,  to  get  the  record.  Someone  im- 
ported a  Klondike  thermometer,  but  it  froze  to  death. 
It  couldn't  live  here  at  all.  Yes,  at  times  it's  so  cold  we 
have  to  go  outdoors  backward.  If  you  try  to  walk  out 
straight  ahead  your  breath  freezes  in  front  of  you  in  a 
solid  mass  that  brings  you  to  a  standstill.  Thirty 
degrees  below  zero  is  nothing  here.  We  go  around  all 
day  and  never  mind  it.  The  wind  doesn't  blow  at  such 
times;  it  seems  to  be  frozen  up.  Of  course,  during  the 
cold  season,  this  ain't  no  summer  resort  nor  anything 
like  that,  but  the  freezing  point  in  the  damp  atmos- 
phere of  Chicago  is  worse  than  zero  in  our  dry  air." 

"It's  one  blessing  of  our  summer  that  we  always 
have  cool  evenings,"  observed  the  bald  man.  "You 
can  take  pretty  near  the  hottest  day,  and  you  need  a 
blanket  over  you  at  night.  That's  where  we've  got  the 
world  beat.  A  man  can't  get  a  really  beneficial  rest 
reeking  with  sweat  and  with  no  air  to  breathe." 

"How  about  mosquitoes?"  I  asked. 

"We  have  a  good  many  in  a  wet  season,"  said  the 
barber.  "Some  of  'em  seem  to  be  about  the  size  of  a 
canary,  and  they  come  around  and  present  their  bill 


276   Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

most  any  time  of  day.  They  don't  bother  us  much  in 
the  town;  but  oh,  golly!  you  find  'em  good  and  thick 
in  any  swamp  you  happen  to  strike." 

"This  is  fine  country  for  prairie  chickens,"  remarked 
Seth,  "and  hunters  come  from  everywhere  to  shoot 
them.  On  the  first  day  of  September,  when  the  season 
opens,  every  rig  in  town  goes  to  the  prairies,  and  the 
teams  have  all  been  spoken  for  over  a  month  before. 
A  nice  fried  prairie  chicken  is  something  worth  talking 
about.  It's  a  far  greater  delicacy  than  any  farmyard 
fowl.  The  wild  flavor  just  suits  me.  But  the  birds  are 
getting  shyer  and  shyer,  so  you  can't  do  much  success- 
ful shooting  without  a  well-trained  dog.  Later  in  the 
fall  the  wild  ducks  and  geese  come  here  to  get  the  rice 
that  grows  in  the  shallows  of  the  ponds  and  lakes.  They 
go  over  the  town  in  such  big  flocks  that  the  air  is  some- 
times fairly  blue  with  them.  In  the  evening  the  electric 
lights  seem  to  disconcert  'em,  and  you  can  see  'em 
wheeling  about  up  there  in  the  sky  and  hear  'em  honk- 
ing and  quacking." 

While  we  were  talking  a  shower  came  up,  and  the 
bald  man  said,  "Tomorrow's  Saturday — I  hope  it 
won't  rain  then  because  that's  the  farmers'  day  to  come 
to  town  and  get  supplies." 

"And  I  hope  it  won't  rain  Sunday  or  Monday,"  said 
Seth,  "because  those  are  the  days  for  baseball." 

"I  suppose  they  don't  play  ball  much  on  Sunday 
back  in  the  East,"  observed  the  barber;  "but  in  our 


A  Dakota  Paradise  277 

towns  here  we  have  a  Sunday  game  almost  every  week 
from  spring  to  fall;  and  I'd  like  to  have  you  explain  to 
me  what  there  is  in  a  ball  game  to  drive  a  man  to  hell. 
Those  people  that  prefer  to  rest,  let  'em  get  up  in  the 
attic  and  stay  there;  but  if  others  want  to  chase  a  pewee 
around,  that's  their  business.  A  man  who  has  to  work 
all  the  week  likes  a  little  recreation  on  Sunday;  and  if 
it  suits  him  to  take  in  a  ball  game  or  go  shooting  gophers 
he  ought  to  have  his  say  about  it,  instead  of  being  told 
by  the  preacher  when  to  head  in.  The  folks  that  prefer 
to  go  to  church — let  'em;  but  there's  just  enough  mule 
about  all  of  us  so  if  you  go  to  forcing  things  we  back  up. 
The  churches  have  a  pretty  fair  attendance  except  in 
summer,  when  the  outdoor  attractions  thin  the  numbers 
down  a  good  deal." 

"Some  things  could  be  improved,"  said  the  bald 
man;  "and  yet,  take  it  as  a  whole,  North  Dakota  is 
about  as  good  a  place  to  live  in  as  you  can  find.  One 
of  its  good  points  is  state  prohibition.  You  cross  our 
boundary  line  into  the  license  states  and  see  the  differ- 
ence. The  license  towns  are  rougher  and  dirtier  than 
our  towns  every  time,  and  have  more  loafers  and  law- 
lessness. I  tell  you  the  open  saloon  makes  the  road  to 
drunkenness  and  poverty  and  crime  wide  and  easy. 
The  saloons  and  their  low  hangers-on  don't  have  the 
best  corners  on  our  streets,  but  if  they  exist  at  all  slink 
off  into  the  byways.  The  law  don't  absolutely  stop 
liquor-drinking  any  more  than  our  laws  against  stealing 


278    Highways  and  Byways  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 

or  other  crimes  entirely  succeed  in  their  purpose.  Our 
confirmed  topers  have  liquor  sent  to  'em  from  outside 
of  the  state,  or  buy  it  at  the  drugstores  and  guzzle  on 
the  quiet." 

"Yes,  that's  straight,"  commented  the  barber,  "they 
can  always  manage  to  get  it;  but  there's  very  much  less 
drank  than  there  would  be  under  license,  and  that  is  a 
big  help  in  making  our  towns  clean  and  safe  and  thrifty. 
The  greatest  gain  though,  is  for  the  young  men,  because 
the  temptation  for  them  to  begin  drinking  is  so  slight. 
I  wouldn't  want  to  bring  up  a  family  of  boys 
anywhere  else." 

The  rain  was  now  falling  in  torrents,  and  at  frequent 
intervals  there  was  a  sudden  crash  of  thunder.  Seth 
went  to  the  door  and  looked  out.  "Well,  I  must  be 
going,"  he  remarked,  as  he  buttoned  his  coat  about  him 
and  turned  up  his  collar. 

"Where's  your  umbrella  ?"  inquired  the  barber. 

"That  reminds  me  of  a  story,"  responded  Seth.  "A 
little  boy  went  to  church  one  rainy  Sunday  and  the 
minister  asked  him  why  he  didn't  carry  an  umbrella; 
and  the  boy  said,  'Ours  are  all  worn  out.  Pa  don't 
bring  home  any  more  umbrellas  since  he  quit  goin' 
to  church." 

The  weather  was  so  showery  and  the  roads  so  muddy 
while  I  was  at  Jimtown  that  the  farmers  were  not  riding 
around  in  their  automobiles.  "  But  there's  plenty  of 
'em,"  I  was  assured.  "It  only  takes  one  or  two  good 


Dandelions 


A  Dakota  Paradise  279 

crops  to  set  the  farmers  right  on  their  feet.  Last  year 
they  didn't  do  as  well  as  usual — only  raised  fifty  bushels 
of  wheat  to  the  acre,  and  of  course  they  felt  terribly 
abused;  but  if  we  get  a  big  harvest  this  year  things  will 
be  just  booming  again.  Oh,  they  make  their  pile  easy, 
and  live  on  the  fat  of  the  land." 

They  have  the  means  to  travel  if  they  choose,  and 
some  of  them  go  to  California  to  spend  the  winter. 
Nor  were  conditions  in  the  Jim  Valley  at  all  exceptional. 
Prosperity  was  general  throughout  the  state.  All  this 
country  is  still  youthful.  Man  has  not  labored  long 
enough  there  to  thoroughly  humanize  it,  and  often  you 
continue  to  find  a  savor  of  the  desert  or  wilderness.  It 
may  never  have  quite  the  charm  of  the  well-watered 
Eastern  regions;  but  mellowness  and  repose  will  come 
with  age,  more  care  will  be  bestowed  on  the  homes,  and 
the  long  broad  slope  between  the  Rocky  Mountains 
and  the  Mississippi  River  which  includes  North  Dakota 
is  destined  to  be  in  most  ways  an  ideal  farming  section 
that  for  extent  and  fertility  will  be  unrivalled  the  world 
over. 

NOTE. — To  see  the  thriving  farm  country  of  North  Dakota  to  ad- 
vantage anyone  would  do  well  to  visit  the  James  River  Valley  as  I  did; 
but  there  are  other  sections  just  as  good.  Perhaps  the  best  of  all  is  the 
basin  of  the  Red  River  on  the  eastern  borders  of  the  state.  The  country 
is  too  monotonously  level  to  have  much  scenic  attraction,  but  the  gen- 
eral prosperity  and  the  evident  rich  productiveness  of  the  farms  to  a 
large  degree  make  up  for  this  lack  and  fill  even  the  stranger  and  sight- 
seer with  satisfaction. 


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— Courier-journal,  Louisville 

A  "Wanderer  in  Paris 

Fully  illustrated  with  color  reproductions  of  paintings  and 
with  halftones  from  photographs 

Cloth,  12 mo,  $1.75  net 

"Mr.  Lucas  has  two  outstanding  qualities — his  pleasing 
personality,  which  gives  grace  and  perfume  to  his  style,  and  his 
discriminating  flair  for  the  best  in  other  men's  books,  which  has 
produced  his  excellent  anthologies.  These  two  qualities  set  'A 
Wanderer  in  Paris'  apart  from  other  works  of  the  kind  and  make 
it  a  worthy  representative  of  the  author's  powers." 

— Chicago  Record-Herald 
PUBLISHED  BY 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

SIXTY-FOUR  AND  SIXTY-SEX  FIFTH  AVENUE  NEW  YORK 


ii  nun  i 

A     000  674  290 


